Contents
1. Small-town Charm, or Not
2. Cheap Wine, Expensive Taste
3. The Untold Story of Sarah Harvey
4. Mad Harvey
5. Something Watching
6. Hideaway Sam
7. Filling a Well
8. Cowboys and Cake
9. The Danger in Trusting Somebody
10. No Place Like Home
11. Pushing the Boundaries
12. Old Wounds Tear Open
13. Date Gone Wrong
14. The Ghost in the Turret
15. Home Base
16. The Yellow Envelope
17. Jailbreak and Red Tape
18. I’m Dreaming of a Scary Christmas
19. Worth the Pryce
20. Sarah Harvey’s Revenge
21. Nothing Left to Lose
22. New Beginnings, Old Stove
23. Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Kindle Edition
Text © 2018 by Angela M Hudson
All Rights Reserved
Cover image Used Under License by Shutterstock
Cover design by AM Hudson
Edited by Sara Meadows of TripleA Publishing
For inquiries to TripleA Publishing, fill out our contact form or find us on Facebook
License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination.
The town, café, and states mentioned are fictitious.
Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental
This book is not dedicated to Grant Pryce
Small-town Charm, or Not
“The stain on my pants is white. It looks degradingly suspicious!” Ali cried into the phone. “And some old hag that smelled like gin and tonic talked my ear off the entire flight. I now know everything there is to know about immunizing cats.”
“Well—”
“I had to pour milk on my pants just so I had an excuse to go to the bathroom and get some peace, Mel! I haven’t slept,” she ranted, listing her problems without taking a breath. “My hair is so stiff with static that I electrocuted the poor baggage guy. I’m starving—”
“Ali, just try to calm down,” her sister said softly. “I can hardly understand you.”
“This was supposed to be my dream trip,” Ali sobbed. “Hot cocoa. Fall foliage. A fireplace in my hotel room. It wasn’t supposed to be raining!” Her words were shot at the sky, but they echoed off the empty sidewalk outside the airport instead. “And to make matters worse, the airline only just found my luggage—”
“Well, you did miss your boarding call, Ali. It’s not their fault—”
“I know.” She buried her head in her hand. “It’s no one’s fault, really. I’m just exhausted, Mel—”
“And you’ve had a really bad few weeks, I know. I get it. I mean, you’re still getting over Steven, and—”
“Steven!” Ali’s lip curled in disdain. “That was three months ago. And after what he did, he is nothing to me now.”
“Yes, but then there was the whole nightmare with your bo—”
“I can’t talk about that.” Her head quickly angled away from the phone. Any mention of that horrible failure made her go bright red from chest to forehead. She already looked pathetic enough, standing alone in a place where people usually weren’t, with the bizarre fluorescent purple suitcase at her foot. Beetroot Face would not complement her red coat.
“Ali?”
Exhaling slowly and wiping the tears dry, Ali brought the phone back to her ear. “There are no taxis here and the stupid town my hotel’s in is an hour away,” she said in a weak voice.
“Call one,” Mel said simply.
“I only have three percent battery.”
“Well, hang up now and go call someone. I’ll talk to you when you’ve had some rest and you’ve cleared your head.”
Ali released a weary smile. “I’m sorry. I did the hysterical sister thing again, didn’t I?”
Mel laughed. “It’s what sisters are for. Call a cab,” she concluded. “Get some sleep and some food, and everything will look different in the morning. You’ll see.”
As much as Ali wanted to believe that, she knew that no amount of sleep or food could change the past or make her future brighter. Fall Creek was supposed to be her escape—her hideaway from the city, where she could find her muse and write her next book. But after everything it had cost her to get there, the dream writing holiday was now looking remarkably more like a hilarious sitcom. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay, take care, sis.”
“Bye.”
Ali sat down on her upright suitcase and pouted, staring at her phone. Under the two-percent battery warning was another apology from her publisher—from someone who was supposed to be a friend. She avoided reading the message, but forcing her eyes away from it only made her hyperaware of the desolation compacting the open space.
As the battery died and the screen went black, Ali supposed she should never have mixed business with friendship to begin with because, in the end, business always came first. And apologies just couldn’t fix that. She was numb from crying—from the endless crying over the last six weeks—and tired of being angry. All those emotions that brought her here were supposed to stay on the plane, and as she looked around and spotted a payphone, Ali decided that’s exactly what they would do.
Wedging the past behind her, she made a quick phone call and was relieved to be told that a taxi would be there in forty minutes—since the poor driver had just finished his shift and gone home to bed. After the missed flight this morning and spending five unplanned hours in the airport reflecting on things that couldn't be changed, she’d had just about enough of waiting. Not to mention, airports were the worst places for people like her, because typical travelers read the kinds of books she typically wrote. Luckily, with scraggly dry hair and suitcases under her eyes, Ali had been disguised enough to avoid any scrutinizing glares or, worse, the look of pity that accompanied a verbal analysis of her latest book. She’d come through that lengthy waiting game unscathed, so she could get through another forty minutes.
As time moved on slowly in the growing cold, Ali tried to find five ways this could be a positive experience. After all, it was a required skill of a writer to take a bad experience and turn it into a great story. But all she came up with was: 1. Maybe I’ll meet a nice guy and have a fall romance.
If there was one thing in this world Ali needed right now it was someone just for her—a person she could talk to late at night and watch movies with; someone that cared about her problems and would tell her honestly if she looked fat in her jeans. She missed having a relationship—even if the only good relationship she ever had was with book characters—but Ali wasn’t sure if she was searching for a best friend, or maybe something more. The only certainty in her life was the loneliness and the complete loss of faith she had in herself and her ability to write. If her last attempt was anything to go by, then perhaps her successful debut novel was just a fluke and she’d never write anything readable again.
Sitting alone there on the cold pavement, the airport closed behind her—she didn't even know airports ever closed—Ali didn't look so much like the thirty-one-year-o
ld woman she was; she looked small and young and more like a teenager. Everything she thought she was had been blown up in smoke recently and this was supposed to be a fresh start—a holiday, yes, but a fresh start as well. It wasn’t supposed to be such a nightmare.
As if the sky heard her heart breaking, it poured down on the night, drowning out her quiet sobs so no one would know how utterly pathetic and lonely she was.
* * *
“This is the place,” said the taxi driver, tapping his fingers impatiently as Ali sat looking out onto the dark and desolate street, fighting to see through the slanted sheets of rain.
In a single take, Ali could see the Grand Hotel obviously had those small-town opening hours, as if every Mary-Sue and Darling John would be in bed by 9:30, lobby doors closed promptly at 10:00. All the street lights were out, and the stores making two orderly lines down either side of the wide road were shut, dainty curtains closed over the charming fronts and nary a steel door or padlock in sight. Ali guessed that was an indication that waiting out under the street side frontage at two in the freezing morning would not be unsafe for a girl alone, but she still tensed with a sense of the unknown, frantically searching for anything that might be open—any person leaving early for work, or maybe late for home.
“Are you getting out, or am I charging double?” the driver insisted.
“I think it’s closed.” She gave him a withering look, as if he might take pity and help her out.
“It’s after two in the morning. I don’t get paid enough to make it my problem.” He faced the front again, hands on the wheel. “That’ll be seventy-five dollars.”
Shaking her head, frustrated almost to tears, Ali paid the driver and scuffled across the backseat, dragging the purple suitcase behind her. She’d barely shut the door before the impatient twit squealed away, his taillights vanishing around the corner.
Wet feet, shivering in a thin red coat and tracksuit pants, she pulled her luggage up closer to the doors and took a peek inside. There was a light on deeper into the building and she wondered if maybe the kitchen staff would be preparing for breakfast and might hear her bang on the door. It was a long shot though, if she truly listened to her gut, and nowhere on the door or anywhere visible was a number for a night manager. Not that it would help without a phone.
“Hello!” she yelled, banging on the door. “Hello! Check-in out here! I’m freezing my balls off. Okay, so I don't have balls, but if I did, they’d be shriveled right now, and it’d be all your fault for being so… so… so small-town!” She kicked the brass rim of the door. “Damn it!”
When that didn't work, she rattled the handles in the hopes they might magically be open. At this point, as the cold stiffened her fingers, she’d have settled for sleeping on the cushy leather sofa just a few feet away behind the glass.
One thing to be thankful for, she mused as it occurred to her that she might spend the night outside, at least the hotel did look exactly like the pictures in the travel brochure. The marble floors and high ceilings placed it somewhere more like New York than New England, but at the same time it still had that small-town charm with the floral wallpaper, the mismatched wooden furniture, and the portraits of trees.
Steeling her eyes away from the crackling embers in the large fireplace, she turned back to the incessant hum of the rain and dropped her shoulders with a heavy sigh. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” she remarked to her suitcase, sitting down on it.
A dull groan of thunder replied, and Ali rolled her eyes. This was a great start to her soul-searching. If she was lucky, in this climate she might be found just as her toes turned black, and if she really pleaded with her insurance company, they’d only remove one or two of them instead of the whole damn lot. Which made her glad she didn’t, in fact, have balls, because they would be a lot more painful to have removed. Then again, since she did one day plan to have kids, that would be rather devastating, and she decided with a nod that losing her toes would be just fine.
At some point, as the jet lag claimed her hopeful attitude and the cold froze her bursting bladder, Ali drifted off to sleep, only to wake again as her head slipped down the glass and her bum sent the suitcase flying at an unnatural speed toward the wall. Landing hard on the cement sidewalk, she could do little but sigh, wondering how much worse it could get. Until a small circle of light renewed her hopes.
Down the street and across the road she could just make out the front of a pick-up truck and, beneath the small circle of foggy light, a set of steps leading up to an open door. A tall, broad man appeared a second later and trotted down to the truck, scooping up a box and heading back inside.
Before he could vanish, Ali picked herself up off the floor and grabbed her carry-on bag, dragging her suitcase behind her through the damp street. Far on the horizon, past the steep hills packed with all that fall foliage she’d come out here for, the sun was just starting to hint at rising. If she could sit inside that store for half an hour it might make braving the cold a little more bearable. And, after all, this was a small town. People were friendly in small towns.
“E-excuse me,” she stammered, not realizing her voice had abandoned her as she dozed. The man didn't hear and proceeded to unload his car and head up the steps again. “Hey! Excuse me,” she called again.
This time he heard her. Her face split into a beaming, grateful smile and she waved like an idiot, rushing over with her wet suitcase dragging behind her. She knew she looked like a city-slicker, minus the heels, but she hoped he’d still take pity on her.
“Hi! Hello,” she trilled, way too perky for the hour. “I’m so glad I’ve found someone. Hi.”
“What d’you want?” the man groaned, giving her a reproaching look.
“I… I arrived after check-in.” Ali pointed to the hotel by way of explanation. “I’ve been out here for hours. I just… could I come inside for a bit? I—”
“No.” With a box in arms, the man slammed his trunk shut with his elbow and stomped up the steps.
She followed. “It’s just that, I really am cold. And tired. I’ve been traveling for thirty hours—”
“Not my problem, lady.”
Ali stopped at the base of the steps. “Why do people keep saying that?”
The man groaned and put the box down inside the door. “Hotel opens in an hour. You can tough it out ’til then.”
“But—”
“Not my problem.” He slammed the door and turned out the light.
Ali was floored, breathless, unsure what to say. “What ever happened to that small-town hospitality?” she yelled, wishing she had something to throw at his door. But it opened and his head appeared. She was hopeful again until he yelled back, “That offer extends to locals, not Leaf Peepers.”
Ali’s mouth popped to a close as the door locked into place, the name and the implication behind it flooding her with insult. “I’m not here for the leaves,” she yelled. “Just so you know.”
Except, she was. She was also here to reconnect with her muse and hopefully find herself, but technically he was right: she was a tourist. A “Leaf Peeper.” Still, that didn't make it acceptable for him to treat her so unkindly.
“Crotchety old goat!” she barked as she walked away, her pout catching the new rain.
* * *
The room she’d booked was smaller than it looked in the pictures, but since she was willing to pay extra for it, they moved her to the honeymoon suite. Apparently, it was the last room vacant, and only because no locals would ever book in to the “fancy Grand Hotel”, and no out-of-towners would honeymoon here. It was a win for Ali though, because her room was on the third and top floor, giving her a clean view of the town and the entire forest-covered mountainside. And, as planned, she could spend her vacation by the fire with hot cocoa.
As the sun lifted itself past the highest mountain peak, a multitude of colors welcomed the light and filled up Ali’s soul. No matter what disaster befell her on the way to this little old town, that moment m
ade it all worthwhile. She was even willing to forget the crude store owner. Almost. It was obvious to her that this place breathed inspiration, living under the soapy smell of a clean hotel room and the fragrant aroma of cinnamon coffee that seemed to waft in on an intangible breeze. Inspiration in one deep breath.
After a steaming hot shower, some room service, and twenty-four hours of sleep, Ali woke feeling human again. And best of all, her toes did not need to be removed, not that that stopped her from dreaming about it. The first thing she did on opening her eyes to the blinding three o'clock sun was throw her covers back and make sure all ten digits were still there. The second thing was breakfast. Brunch. Make that linner, she decided, getting a better look at the clock.
When she finally left the hotel and stepped into daylight for the first time in seventy-two hours, her eyes needed extra time to adjust to the light. Strolling lazily past strangers that could be locals or Leaf Peepers alike, Ali took in the quaint little town like a breath of fresh air.
The cool wind moved her hair and brushed her cheeks as if to kiss her and apologize for its first impression, while the high hills, dotted with heads of green, orange, yellow, and even brown, surrounded the town like the warm, inviting hug she’d needed last night. Ali found herself suddenly very forgiving of the cold reception she received, and suddenly renewed with the deep inspiration the historic buildings fed her on a spoon. Even if she couldn't quite put her finger on the story yet, Ali knew the muse had presented itself and she now awaited that spark to ignite the burn of a really good writing stint.
Dead and Gone Page 1