Tower Bridge Trespass (Piccadilly Ladies Club Mysteries Book 6)
Page 6
“What about the stab wounds? Also accidental?”
“He determined those were inflicted post-mortem.”
“You don’t say? Winnifred said—” Julia hesitated to go on.
Jacob looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate. She thought for a moment and then shook her head.
“No matter. I’m happy to hear your murder investigation was solved so quickly. I think not many will miss him, at any rate.”
He pulled her close.
“Have a lovely time at the tea party, Julia. Give Mattie my congratulations. Frankie will be here shortly to entertain us until you return.”
“What would I do without you, Jacob Gibbs?”
He shrugged again. “I suppose you’d have to work a little bit harder to solve your cases, but I’m confident you’d get it done. You are a force to be reckoned with, Julia Barlow.”
She kissed him on the cheek and left, smiling to herself.
Everything in the world felt perfect.
About Bettie Jane
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 35 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
Fleet Street Felony
Marble Arch Murder
Covent Garden Caper (Short Story)
Tower Bridge Trespass
Double-Decker Murder
Brunel Museum Mistake
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 Sample
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 fo
r 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 here to read more from Roanoke Vanishing.