Acknowledgments
There are so many people involved with the process of writing a book, and I can’t thank you all enough. My editor, proofer, cover designer…all of you rock!
And of course, my husband deserves big thanks mostly for his support, but he also deserves kudos for distracting the wonderful puppies after I’ve lost my patience.
These puppies have more fans than Harry Potter. I aspire to be them.
Praise for
Unbreakable Bonds
AN angela panther mystery
"Unbreakable Bonds is just as captivating as Unfinished Business. Angela and her sarcastically funny Ghost Mom are a perfect puzzle solving team - you won't want to put this down until you know how it all ends!"
—Kate Lucnik
"Unbreakable Bonds is a fantastic follow up to Unfinished Business. To see the story develop in this way is exciting! I can't wait for the next book in the series!"
—Karyn Clough
"Unbreakable Bonds finds Angela searching for the gift she never wanted, while tackling the everyday issues of being a wife, mother, friend and daughter. What follows is a personal journey full of grief and comic relief as Angela handles the turmoil of life after death, without losing her wit and charm."
—Erin Hartman
Chapter One
The sun's blistering hot rays beat down and singed my skin. Rays so intense even the shaded woods and sunscreen didn't stop the burning. I sprinted, sucking in big gulps of air. I needed shelter and chastised myself for parking my car two miles away. I knew I couldn't keep this pace for two more miles.
Pebbles and rocks pelted me like hail during a Georgia winter storm. They bounced off my head, pinged me on my arms and legs. It would have been funny if it didn't hurt.
Out of energy, I found relief under an oak tree. I pressed my back against it, wincing as the bark pierced my skin, but knowing it hurt less than the rocks. I bent over, hands on my knees, and drew in air, hoping to catch my breath, when another rock clipped me on my right knee. "Knock it off," I yelled.
Another rock dropped through the tree's branches and smacked my head. I rubbed the spot and noticed a bump already forming. "Ouch, that hurt."
One more the size of a small lemon plopped down at my feet, but at least it didn't make contact with my battered body. I picked it up and tossed it between my hands. "This ain't gonna work. I can't hear you, let alone see you. My psychic juju's out of whack, so unless you can spell with these rocks, you're screwed. Capiche?"
The rocks stopped but only for a short time.
"Thank God." I hit play on my iPhone and ran. Halfway through the first song, another rock smacked me on the head. My face tightened and through pressed lips, I said, "Enough already. I can't help you. If I could, don't you think I would, just to stop the darn rock attack?"
A small tree branch cracked me on the arm. "Now that's just rude." One by one, rocks battered my legs. I doubled my pace, feeling the tiredness in my legs kick in. "Boy, you're a testy one, huh?"
The rocks hit me at breakneck speed, and no matter how fast I ran I couldn't escape them.
I knew it took copious amounts of energy for ghosts to move objects. Usually they wore out quickly and had to disappear to recoup that energy, so I egged the ghost on, hoping to tire it out enough to make it go away.
My heart pounded. I picked up my pace. "Is that all you got? Come on, Casper. Bring it." I thrust out my chest and sprinted for a full minute, jumping over tree stumps and thrown rocks. I relished my ability to conquer an unseen competitor and did my best Rocky Balboa imitation, hands in the air and cheering—until I tripped and face-planted - into a pile of animal poop. "Crap."
I pulled off my tee shirt, exposing my workout bra, wiped my face with the shirt, and waited. The rocks stopped. I'd worn out the ghost, but it one-upped me with the face-plant. "Touché," I said, and sulked the rest of the way to my car.
I'd lost the ability to hear and see ghosts after my father died six months ago, but that hadn't stopped them from trying to connect. I understood the desperate need for closure, for a final chance to say I love you or ask for forgiveness. I needed something similar because when I lost my father and my gift I also lost my connection to my mother, whose spirit had been a constant in my life for almost a year.
All of my efforts to fix my gift had failed, and when a ghost tried to connect, it just left both the ghost and me frustrated and annoyed.
***
On the drive home I called my best friend Mel and told her about the face-plant. "So I had another one," I said.
"Did you see it?"
"Nope."
"Hear it?"
"Nope."
"What did it do?"
"Attacked me."
"What? How?" She asked.
"Threw rocks at me."
She giggled. "Ticked it off, huh?"
"Maybe just a little."
"Uh huh."
"My entire body will be purple by this time tomorrow."
"Could be worse," she said.
"It is."
"Oh, crap."
"Exactly."
"Huh?" She asked.
"Crap."
"Speak English, please."
"Says the Asian."
"Born and raised in New Jersey, baby. Tell me what happened."
So I did.
I held the phone away from my ear while she laughed. "You done?" I whined.
"You just made my crappy day better." She busted out laughing at her own joke.
"Are you at Fowler Park?" Mel asked.
"Nope. The bike trail at Central Park."
"I hate that place."
"You hate running, not the place."
"You're right."
"If you ran more often, you'd probably beat me once in a while."
"I just let you win."
"Uh huh."
"I don't want you to feel bad," she said.
I laughed. "You and Nick up for dinner tonight? I'm thinking Mexican."
She let out a loud sigh. "Nick's gotta work."
"Again? How many Saturdays in a row is that now?"
"Six."
Mel had reason to complain about Nick's work schedule. After my mother died, he worked every weekend for several months. Mel had been frustrated then, too.
"That sucks."
"Yup."
"Is everything okay at his job?"
Another loud sigh. "Heck if I know. We barely talk anymore."
"What?"
Mel backpedaled. "It's not a biggie. Don't worry about it."
"Um, hello. Best friend code? You tell me everything and I tell you everything, remember?"
"Not when one best friend just lost both parents. You've got enough on your plate."
"I didn't just lose them," I said. "And there's always room on my plate for your stuff, too."
"Fine. I'll tell you, but not on the phone. The walls have ears. How about Starbucks, tomorrow morning? Say eight o'clock?"
"Sounds great."
"Okay. See you then."
"I'm worried. Are you okay?"
"Not really, but we'll talk tomorrow."
That was Mel's way of telling me to drop the subject, so I did.
"Okay. Call or text if you need me."
"Always do."
I wrinkled my nose. I smelled feces and rolled down my windows for the rest of the drive home. When I got there, I walked into the kitchen and smacked right into my husband, Jake.
He scrunched up his face and backed away. "Good God, woman, you smell like crap."
"Literally or figuratively?"
"Literally."
"There's a reason for that."
***
I woke up at three a.m. drenched from night sweats. After a quick, cold shower, I was wide awake and cranky, so I grabbed my phone and brand new bifocals and went to the den. My Pit-Greyhound mix Gracie followed.
I'd been waking up soaked for a few months and was probably in the throes of peri-menopause but
wasn't ready to fully admit it.
I sent Mel a text, something I always did when I couldn't sleep. "Woke up soaked again. Stupid Eve. I hate her. Hope you're okay." I firmly believed that Eve was responsible for all women's ailments, from periods to childbirth, to sagging breasts. Had she not taken the first bite of that apple, I was sure men would be popping out kids and wearing tampons. I hated Eve.
I powered on the TV and clicked through the channels until Mark Harmon and his NCIS crew appeared. I texted Mel again and complained, but she didn't respond. She was probably sleeping. Cold, I wrapped my mother's old plaid blanket around me and snuggled into the crook of the chair, Gracie at my feet. Tiredness eventually kicked in, and my eyes struggled to stay open until they finally gave in to sleep.
Something crashed to the floor and jolted me from my slumber. I switched on the light, scanned the room, and that's when I saw it—a rock the size of a lemon, sitting on the floor in front of the TV console. "Well I'll be damned."
Gracie, awake and on high alert, sniffed the air. Her ears dropped and she moved closer to me, both signs of fear. I rubbed her head, comforting us both. "What's wrong, Gracie girl?"
I did a quick ghost check, running down the list of common signs of paranormal activity. Though the room had been chilly, the temperature returned to normal. No unusual smells, no sense of being watched, nothing touching me, and no creepy sounds, but my gut told me something was up. I hoped it was my mother, but Gracie knew Ma both dead and alive and wouldn't be scared of her. Just in case, I said, "Ma," but got no reply, not that I thought I would.
I stiffened. The idea of an unknown ghost in my house made me uncomfortable. My house, my turf, and I didn't like having it invaded. I sent Mel another text, hoping my desperation would somehow transmit through the cell towers and wake her. "THERE'S A GHOST IN MY DEN! WAKE UP!"
She didn't reply, so I clicked off the TV, threw the blanket down, and bolted up the stairs, with Gracie at my heels. I jumped in bed and snuggled up next to Jake. He moved closer, spooning his body around mine, and let his hands wander.
"Oh, yeah." Jake considered snuggling foreplay. Jake thought of as breathing foreplay, too. In truth Jake believed being alive was foreplay.
"There's a ghost in the den," I whispered.
"Uh huh." His hands wandered lower.
"I could feel it, Jake."
"Uh huh."
I pushed his hands away and sat up. "Jake, there's a ghost in the den!"
He opened his eyes. "I heard you, Ang. What do you want me to do, go down and beat it with a baseball bat?"
"Yes, please."
He sat up and turned on the nightstand light. "Okay, go to the garage and get Josh's old bat."
I punched him in the arm. "Not funny."
"Good grief," he said and crawled out of bed. "Be right back."
"My hero." I lay back down and pulled the covers up to my chin. Gracie jumped onto the bed, turned in circles and finally settled next to me, right on top of Jake's pillow. I laughed, knowing how he hated that.
A minute later Jake was back. "Great," he said, pushing the dog off of the bed. "Now my pillow is going to smell like dog ass."
"Well?" I asked, keeping the covers up near my chin.
He climbed back into bed, scooted up close to me, and assured me the coast was clear, and then went back to letting his hands wander. I wasn't so sure but exhaustion replaced fear, and my eyes once again lost their battle with sleep. Poor Jake didn't get lucky because I was out within seconds.
***
Mel was sitting at our regular Starbucks table, twisting her wedding ring around her finger, waiting for me. Her hair, pulled up in a ponytail, looked less stellar than usual. She had both drinks on the table, as always.
I set my purse down and sat across from my friend. "Sorry I'm late. Rough night."
"I read." She handed me my coffee.
"Thanks. Next one's on me."
"Baristas already know that. So what happened?"
"I finally fell asleep on the chair in the den and all of a sudden I heard something hit the wood floor, and it was a freaking rock. I ran upstairs, got Jake, and made him check. He said everything was fine, but it's not like he can see ghosts anyway. I felt guilty for waking him up, though."
"Did he try to get lucky?"
"Do bears crap in the woods?"
She laughed, and I saw a slight glimmer in her mostly bloodshot eyes. "Wouldn't a more appropriate question be, does Angela face-plant into bear crap in the woods?"
"Touché."
"Sorry I wasn't up," she said through a yawn. "I took two Ambien and was out before nine." She took the lid off her coffee, swirled the cup in circles and took a drink. "Nick is cheating on me."
My chin dropped. "Shut the front door."
"If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'."
"How do you know?"
"A woman knows when her husband's pounding someone else's punani pavement."
Pounding someone else's punani pavement?
Mel's marriage wasn't perfect, but it seemed stable. Sure, she complained about the same things most women did—he worked too much, burped too much, passed too much gas, that kind of stuff, but pounding someone else's punani pavement was a serious accusation. "You can't be right, Mel."
"He's banging his new assistant."
"But how do you know?"
"His work schedule, for starters. It's practically twenty-four seven like it was after your mom died."
"Maybe they've got a big project or something. Working late doesn't always equate to an affair."
"It did before, after your mom died."
Before? "What?"
She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and ran her hand through the long, black strands. "Nick made me promise not to say anything but I should have known not to listen. He just didn't want to look bad because he knew he'd do it again."
My skin tingled. I couldn't believe there'd been a first time, let alone a second. "How'd you find out about the first time? I can't believe you never told me."
"Your mother had just died. I wasn't going to drop a bomb like that on you."
I was shocked. Nick didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd cheat on his wife. "Did he actually admit to it then?"
She nodded. "Yup. When I told him I knew he was doing it, he did."
"What made you think he was cheating?"
"Typical cheating signs. Working late, smelling freshly showered when he got home, no interest in sex." She stared into her cup. "Stuff like that."
"Wow."
"Yup."
I couldn't think of anything more to say.
"I'm divorcing him."
"I'm sorry." I covered her hand with mine. "Are you sure that's what you want?"
"My kids will be heartbroken, but I can't live with someone who's unfaithful. I just can't." She pulled her hand from mine and stared at her wedding ring.
"So what happens now?"
"I need proof of the affair. I don't want my kids to blame me. I want them to know the truth."
"They're young, Mel. They're not going to blame you."
"I know they won't now, but I want something in writing so when they're older they can see it if need be."
That made sense, so I nodded.
"Can you help me?"
"Abso-freaking-lutely. We'll nail his ass to the wall."
"We're gonna need your mom."
My heart sank. "Fran? For what?"
"For spying, you know, like she did with your kids."
My mother did help keep an eye on my daughter Emily during a rough time, but that was when I could see and hear her. "You know I can't communicate with her."
"But you're still connected to that world somehow, and that has to mean something. You haven't completely lost your gift if ghosts are still trying to contact you. That could have been her yesterday, and last night, and the countless other times stuff has happened."
"I know, but I can't hear or see them, and those are important pieces to be missi
ng, you know? Besides, it didn't feel like Fran throwing those rocks at me, and last night Gracie was scared. She wouldn't be scared of my mother."
"Well then, for the sake of me and all of the ghosts trying to communicate with you, you need to get your gift back, pronto."
"Easier said than done."
"Maybe Linda can help?"
I'd been working with Linda, my psychic counselor, ever since my mother returned from the dead. Linda helped me work through the kinks of my gift and assured me I wasn't crazy. Lately we'd focused on fixing my gift, but so far nothing we tried worked.
Mel picked up her phone and poked the screen with her index finger.
"What are you doing?"
"Calling Linda."
Oh boy. She was determined, and Mel in determined mode was scary. It ranked second to Mel in don't screw with my kids mode, which was feared worldwide. "Don't bother. I'm seeing her tomorrow."
Her eyes stayed glued to her phone.
"Mel?"
She looked up. "I'm sorry. Think she'll do it?"
"Do what?"
"Talk to Fran." She touched her neck with her fingers. "Didn't I just say that?"
"Nope."
"Oh." She tilted her head and gave me a half smile. "Sorry. My brain is working faster than my mouth."
"That's a first."
"Har dee har har."
"And I doubt she will. She said she wouldn't talk to my mother until she thought I was ready."
"But this isn't for you."
"I'm not sure that'll matter."
"Can you at least ask?"
"Of course."
"Thanks," she said.
"Do you think Nick knows you know?"
She rolled her eyes, which wasn't as annoying as when my daughter did it. "That would require him to talk to me so, no."
"What a tool."
"I prefer cheating rat bastard."
"Good one." I sipped my coffee. "I bet we can dig up some dirt on Nick without my mother."
Mel raised her eyebrows. "Go on."
I grabbed my phone and searched the Internet for how to catch your spouse cheating.
Mel moved her chair over to my side of the table. She looked at my phone. "You know I've done that, right?"
I nodded. "I figured, but look, there's all kinds of phone apps and stuff you could put on his phone." I swiped my phone's screen between different websites.
The Inn at Laurel Creek: Zoe & Daniel's Story Page 8