The Depot

When Life and Death Cross Tracks

Carmen DeSousa

The Depot

(When Life and Death Cross Tracks)

A Short Story

Copyright© 2014 by Carmen DeSousa

ISBN: 9780989905084

www.CarmenDeSousaBooks.com

PO Box 253

Delmont, PA 15626

U.S.A.

The Depot Image by Doug Hagadorn Photography

This is a fictional work. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, without the prior permission in writing, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles.

For any other permission, please email Ann at Contact@CarmenDeSousa.com.

1

A note from the author …

In 1989, I worked at a restaurant in Rockledge, Florida called Ashley’s Cafe. Although fictional, my idea for The Depot stemmed from the ghost who haunts the 1930s tavern.

My fascination with the restaurant came about the first night I served as the restaurant’s general manager. I’d worked there for almost two years and had never heard or saw a thing, but my first night in my new position was a different story. It’s been so long, I barely remember all that happened, but one thing that I’ll never forget is one of those large oval trays — that can’t possibly balance on its side — came sliding across the floor at me. Also, a five-gallon bucket of water spilled across the floor when no one was near it. Maybe the ghost was just reminding me who was boss.

But the most nerve-wracking occurrences throughout the years were the number of employees — including myself — who felt as though someone had pushed them down the service stairs.

My husband — who happened to be a police officer at the time — also got to hear all the stories from the other officers who’d searched the café in the middle of the night because of alarm calls. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have any stories, but the detective’s account in The Depot is based off several officers whom my husband knew and trusted.

Since I’d always been interested in the supernatural, I looked up the woman’s death who supposedly haunts Ashley’s via microfilm from the old library in Cocoa, Florida.

At the time of her death, it was on record as one of the most heinous murders in Florida’s history. The murderer had gone through great lengths to conceal the woman’s identity, including smashing out all her teeth, cutting off her fingers, and burning her body. According to witnesses, the woman had been dating someone from power and wealth. And to my surprise, when I looked forward past a few days, the story had all but disappeared. Weeks later, nothing! Think about that! One of the most shocking crimes in Florida’s history in the thirties, and the newspapers drop the story.

Yeah … things that make you say, “Hmmm …”

So, there you have it. While my story is fictional, there is a ghost story. Oh, and for you ghost hunters if you’d like to read more about Ashley’s ghost, click here.

Prologue

Edda should have known he’d deny her. Deny seeing her, deny being with her. Her friend had warned her, but she’d thought he was her chance to escape the life she’d been living. A chance to be someone. A chance at love.

Ever since she’d moved out of her momma’s home, life had been difficult. She could barely even pay her way at the boarding house where she stayed. At nineteen, the only thing she had going for her was her looks and body, even though it’d been a challenge getting her size back down to fit the few clothes she owned.

Wesley had assured her that he’d take care of her. But seeing his face tonight, she knew it had all been lies. He screamed that everything was her fault and that he couldn’t be bothered with someone of her social status. He’d continued to shout while she shielded her ears, attempting to drown out his obscenities and threats of what he planned to do to her.

She opened the door of the bar, hoping her best friend was still working and could give her a ride home. As soon as she stepped onto the polished wood floors, she noticed the mess she was making. Black mud covered her new patent leather shoes. Then she saw her new dress she’d ordered from the Sears, Roebuck, and Co. Catalog. It had taken months to save $9.98, and she’d spent it all on one silk crepe satin dress. But she had wanted to look nice when Wesley took her to meet his parents. Now the dress was in shreds.

How had it happened?

Her eyes darted around the bar, trying to remember how she’d gotten back here after her fight with Wesley.

“Becky,” she called to her friend, relieved that she was still working. “Throw me a towel, will ya? I got mud all over the new floors.”

Her friend ignored her, as did everyone else crowded around the bar. The mostly-male patrons laughed and sang along with the piano man in the corner, but no one had turned to look at her, even when the bells over the door had announced her arrival.

“Becky,” she said louder, but no one acknowledged her.

Instead, bodies of people rushed around her, their faces contorting and blurring as though she were in a dream or whooshing by them in an automobile. Men with mustaches and beards reshaped to smooth-skinned faces belonging to women, then back to men again. Pale-white faces turned dark, then back to white, and then every shade in between. The clothes they wore changed colors, fabrics, even styles. Dresses went from short to longer lengths and then to short again. Business suits and ties changed to dungarees and undershirts. The room lightened and darkened, over and over, as though the sun were circling the tavern within seconds. The thick-waxed floor below her dulled and then disappeared, and within seconds, a new floor had taken its place. Tables spun before her, along with the chairs, as if some invisible entity were installing them and removing them repeatedly, as though they couldn’t make up their mind what style of furniture they wanted.

Her gaze dropped to her hands, noticing thick black blood dripped from her fingertips. The droplets fell, but never landed.

She searched the room, hoping someone would help her, but then the entire room flashed in front of her, similar to when Becky and she’d gone to the matinee a few months ago and seen The Thin Man. When the movie was over, they’d sat and watched as the projector rewound, reversing the entire movie ten times faster than they’d watched it. Only, the scene in the bar seemed to be moving forward, as if the room had sped up.

When the world stopped spinning and twining, Edda raked her eyes across the room, but nothing was the same.

The bar had transformed.

It was the same, but different. A light from the corner of the room drew her attention. It resembled the screen at the show, but smaller. Colorful, bright images of moving pictures flashed on the tiny screen.

Her gaze fell on the two remaining people behind the bar.

Watching them, a fiery hatred singed her insides, causing a flaring passion to radiate through her soul as she realized what had happened to her.

Rather,what he had done to her.

Chapter One

Detective Mark Waters stretched his long legs in his favorite corner table of the dimly lit restaurant. Other than alarm calls as a patrol officer, he only came here for lunch, and his table had always been open because most customers didn’t want to sit in the corner where they couldn’t watch TV or view the outside patio area. From his vantage point, though, he could see the entry, the downstairs seating area, the booths surrounding the bar, the upstairs dining area, and the hanging plants that swung gently overhead. It’d been several minutes since the last train had passed within thirty feet of the old train station, and yet, the dangling green vines continued to sway, as though dancing to a song only they could hear.

Despite the ghost stories, he loved the old building that dated back to the late 1800s. It had history and character. The famous haunt had been a brothel, a boarding house, a saloon, and then finally the food and spirits eatery it is today.

He sat within inches of the small restroom where many of the supposed occurrences had taken place. Close enough that if a mouse crawled across the linoleum floor, he’d hear it. He’d had to enter the ancient structure countless times as a patrol officer when the alarm went off at four a.m. It’d happened so many times that the owner had given the police station a key.

Tonight, however, he was here for a different reason — death. Something he’d never escape, since he’d decided to follow in his father’s footsteps as a homicide detective. His father had been dead for almost twenty years, and he was still trying to earn his respect.

“Waters,” the pudgy, seasoned detective, Tim Townsend, called from behind the bar. Townsend had always taken it upon himself to throw back a couple of shots when he came here. He’d done the same thing on Mark’s first call to the restaurant when Tim was his FTO. When Tim was his field-training officer, he wouldn’t have dared to utter a word, but now Mark held rank as lieutenant.

“You better put a five in the till, Tim. And you better not have more than one.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” Tim pulled out a bill that Mark was certain was a one and shoved it into the slit of the drawer of the outdated cash register. “But like I was sayin’ …” he squeezed his large belly through the bar entrance and walked over to where Mark sat. He rested his hand on the ladies’ bathroom door, but then removed it as if it’d burnt him, and instead, leaned against the solid wood bar. “Did I tell you about the time I was searchin’ The Depot and got stuck in that little hall in the ladies’ bathroom?”

Mark rested his chin on his fist, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Several times.”

“Really, Dude. Look.” Townsend reached out, opened the ladies’ bathroom door, and pointed. “I can’t even fit in between those two doors. And yet, I turned and banged on every wall, and I couldn’t get out. Larry was here; he heard it.”

Mark sighed in response to Tim’s claim, several officers’ claims actually. But he’d been coming here for years, and he’d never heard a peep or seen an apparition, as had been claimed for years by officers, customers, and naturally, the owners. The proprietors loved the extra business they’d received since the TV show American Haunts had featured the restaurant, even brought in a medium who had in fact sensed several presences. “I know, I know,” Mark said. “The place is haunted. I’ve heard all the stories.”

Tim shook his head and returned to leaning against the bar. “What are we waitin’ for?”

“Forensics. What else?”

Townsend raised his hands in the air. “Why? Dude jumped in front of a train. End of story. Guess we’ll have another lost soul wandering around the old joint.” Tim chuckled at his attempted joke, but then his eyes darted around the eerie edifice as if the dead man might appear because of his callous comment.

Waters huffed out a breath and rubbed his head. “You sound like a teenager for God’s sake, not a forty-five-year-old man.”

The middle-aged man shrugged as a dismissal. Tim had never cared what people thought of him, a characteristic Mark admired in the burnt-out detective. “Wife and son moved back.” He adjusted his belt around his large waistline. “Guess the punk wears off on me. Kid can’t seem to call me anything but “dude,” but hey, at least we’re talking.”

Mark threw his chin up in acknowledgement. “Congratulations, man. That’s great.” Considering Townsend probably called his son “punk” to his face, sort of accounted for the “dude” instead of “dad.” That wouldn’t have happened in his house. Even at eight, Mark remembered his father demanding reverence. Of course, he doled out respect also. His father had always spoken to him as though he were much older and would frequently discuss the cases he was working, almost as though Mark were his sounding board.

The older detective puffed out his chest a fraction and then scraped a barstool across the floor to sit. “So … how are things? Any new lady friends you care to share some salacious details on? Since we’re just sittin’ here.”

Waters shook his head. Tim was the horniest man he knew, the reason his wife kept leaving him. If he wasn’t picking up a new woman, he was looking for juicy tidbits from the other cops at the department. Mark never shared stories. Not that he had anything interesting to reveal even if he wanted. His sex life had been practically nonexistent for the last couple of years. His job was his lover, and she kept him busy day and night. At twenty-eight, he should be thinking about a wife and kids, but his father had waited until he was forty to marry, so he had time.

“What did you say?” Mark asked the detective who had wandered behind the bar again, sniffing around the booze.

Tim tilted his head as he held up a bottle of the cheap stuff this time, requesting permission. “I asked if you had any new lady friends.”

“I mean after that.”

“Nothin’, man.”

“You didn’t mutter something under your breath?”

“You know me, Waters. If I’ve got somethin’ to say, I’ll say it.”

Mark did know that. Still, he could have sworn he heard him whisper something.

The bells over the door sounded, and the forensic team — all two of them — stepped inside the bar. “You tending bar tonight, Tim?” Roland bellowed.

“Nah … just checking stuff.”

Roland laughed. “Sure ya are … Where’s the human hamburger?”

Crossing the room to greet Roland, Mark gestured toward the rear exit. “It’s not pretty.”

The head of forensics shook his head. “Never is, Waters. But hell, when you’ve seen it as many times as I have, you hardly even notice the smell.”

“Well, there isn’t a death-smell yet. Just that uncooked-meat odor that keeps me from cleaning raw chicken at home.”

Roland walked out the rear door, and the new woman — who’d started in the last few months — Anna, he remembered, followed Roland outside, casting a quick glance in Mark’s direction. He’d noticed her too in the last few weeks, but had been trying to ignore his attraction. It was merely the reddish-blond hair, he told himself. He’d always been a sucker for strawberry blondes. But the last time he’d dated a woman close to his job had not worked out well, so he ignored his desire. He was great at ignoring his wants, since he’d been doing it so long.

The door creaked open again. Surprised, Mark turned toward it; he hadn’t expected anyone other than the two of them. It closed after lolling open a couple of seconds. He walked to it and pulled it closed until the latch clicked. Anna obviously hadn’t realized that old buildings required extra attention, unlike new hardware that closed on its own for energy savings.

“Ready?” Tim’s booming voice rang in his ear at the same time his heavy hand clamped onto Mark’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Mark turned, laughing. “You scared the —” He swallowed his words as he noticed Tim was still behind the bar.

Chapter Two

Ashlyn didn’t waste any time the next morning. When her alarm sounded at six a.m., she jumped out of bed and scurried to her closet to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. It’s not as though she even needed the alarm, since she’d never fallen asleep. How could she possibly have slept after what had happened?

She brushed her teeth in lightning speed. Hesitantly, afraid of what she might see, she examined herself in the mirror. The marks surrounding her neck were already yellow and blue. She ran back to the closet and found an old turtleneck sweater she hadn’t worn in years. The weather was still cool enough that no one would question her. They’d just wonder why she was wearing something so unfashionable when she was always the height of fashion. She’d found out a long time ago that her looks would only take her so far. If she wanted to make it in this world, she had to be someone. At twenty-two, she was close to getting her undergrad degree. ’Course, she couldn’t care less to work her way to the top of the corporate ladder; she wanted to run her own company. Her sights were on meeting a successful businessman. After she finished her classes for the day, she’d head over to a different coffee shop or hotel bar, always on the lookout. In the evenings, she tended bar because it was the easiest way to make the most amount of money in the least amount of hours. Also, there was always the likely chance she’d meet the man of her dreams as he was leaving work or having a meeting with other wealthy men.

Almost every dime she earned went to her apartment, her car, her appearance, whatever it took to get what she wanted. And she had thought that she had found her golden ticket. Until she had gone and screwed up. She had actually liked Devin, maybe even loved him. Foolish! She had never considered, never expected what he was capable of. She still couldn’t believe it.

Choking back the tears as she thought about everything that had happened wasn’t easy, but she had to ignore it and get there. She ran to her Jetta, hopped in, and sped toward the restaurant. She chanced a glimpse at the clock as she raced down the highway: 6:30. Good. She still had a little over an hour before the owners showed.

When Ashlyn arrived, she parked on the far south side of the building, away from employee parking, hoping that if anyone drove by, they’d assume she left her car there overnight. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. She always moved her car around before it got dark, so she wasn’t walking across a pitch-black parking lot by herself at three a.m. As she neared the door, she spotted Devin’s Jaguar Convertible and the police tape surrounding it. They must have assumed it was his since it was the only car left in the parking lot. The slanted headlights of the XKR-S seemed to follow her as she raced toward the entry.

Since she was the last one to leave, she had her own set of keys. In the beginning, the owner had returned nightly to shut down the business. But after three years of service, Steve trusted her to lock up. She’d never realized how important that was before now. Then again, if he’d been there last night, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the keys in the front door. Her boss would be here by eight, so she had to hurry. She emptied the contents of her drawer into the bank bag and sprinted upstairs to the office where she was supposed to lock up her money after her shift. She struggled with that key too, her heart racing even faster than it had the previous evening. She should have already done this, but she had been so scared and wanted to leave before the police arrived.

Once inside, she grabbed the key out of the desk drawer and dragged a chair to the wall, carefully balancing as she stood so she could reach the overhead cabinet. Steve wasn’t technical. If she replaced the tape, he’d never know. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to check what was on it. She’d have to grab it, replace it with the tape from the previous evening, and get out. The system they used was simple; he’d shown it to her once when they had gone on vacation and needed her to help watch the place. All he did was rotate the previous night’s tape to the rear and insert the front tape in the machine. He kept thirty days’ worth in the event he had to research anything. Truly, the security tapes were to watch employees. But if a robbery ever occurred, the owner would catch it on tape. And since all employees knew this practice, nothing went missing. Steve couldn’t afford for bottles of liquor or New York strip steaks to grow legs and walk out the door.

Ashlyn felt horrible betraying her boss’ trust, but this had nothing to do with them and everything to do with her. She wasn’t sure how much was on that tape, but she knew she would be the first person the police would question in Devin’s death.

Chapter Three

Mark rolled to a seated position in bed, but sat there rubbing his eyes. He reached for his iPhone, focusing on the bright-white numbers.

Three hours of sleep. Today was going to be rough.

It was doubtful that Townsend had filled out the report to the captain’s satisfaction, so more than likely he’d have to do it again.

He stumbled to the coffee maker, but then thought better of it. He needed to get to the station. Instead, he decided on a cold shower, which would not only wake him up, but the negative ions caused by the cold water hitting the tile would also help him think and work through the details of the man’s death. Devin Burke had turned twenty-five last month, and judging by his driver’s license image, he was an attractive man. What made a twenty-five-year old, obviously wealthy man based on what he drove, commit suicide?

Not that there were ever any answers to that question, but he still wondered. His father’s death was thought to be a suicide, and it had turned out to be a murder, so he never presumed the cause of death until he completed his investigation.

Mark had barely sat down behind his desk when Captain Andrew Davis barged into the detective’s division, making a beeline toward his cubicle. He’d been right; Townsend must have screwed up the paperwork.

“Waters,” he shouted. As usual, no pleasantries. “We got an ID on your stiff.”

Not sure if it was a statement or a question, Mark nodded, acknowledging that they had an ID, though tentative until he found out if Townsend had reached the next of kin. “Devin Burke, according to his driver’s license and the fact that his Jaguar was the only car in the parking lot.”

Davis shook his head. “No. I mean we got an ID. His father came down this morning and identified his body, and he’s ticked.”

“About?”

Captain threw up his hands, pacing in front of Mark’s desk. “Who the hell knows? He’s wealthy and connected. Wants to know why we don’t have the Pennsylvania State Police searching for the murderer.”

“Murderer, Sir?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Told him it was cut-and-dried. Looked like a suicide.” Davis plopped down in the chair opposite him and leaned forward, resting both elbows on his desk. “Now I have the commissioner of the State Police breathing down my neck; evidently they’re good friends.” He blew out a breath that reeked of a cheap cigar. “You ready, Mark? Or should I get another detective? I know you’ve only been doing this for what … five years?”

“Seven, Sir. Five years on the street and two years in homicide.”

He winked. “I knew that, son. Just pullin’ your chain. You’re exactly like your old man. I have faith in you, but the media’s gonna be all over this, looking for someone to lynch. They want their fall guy. So if you don’t find ’em, they’ll accept you instead.”

Mark cringed. “Got it.”

“You know they already love you after you solved that twenty-year-old mystery with Gino Canale. I’m sure your father was smiling down on you for avenging his death.”

Mark couldn’t help but sigh. Avenging his death? “Somehow it didn’t feel like that, Sir, but thank you. I was grateful to know that he hadn’t committed suicide, as the M.E. originally suggested.”

Davis stood and held out his hand. “For the record, I never thought that.”

Mark accepted his outreached hand. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, get to work and clear this case quickly.” He walked toward the door and opened it, but then turned back to him. “But first fix that crap Townsend turned in. We obviously hired him before we required a high school diploma. Was he half-drunk after leaving The Depot or can he not spell?” He let the door slam behind him.

Mark turned and eyed Tim, who was acting as though he were engrossed in the newspaper. Although he probably was. Either the sports page or the comic strips one. He entered Townsend’s cubicle and slammed the paper down in front of him. “Where’s the report? I swear Tim if I have to keep doing this, I’m putting you in for a transfer to PEO.”

Townsend jumped to his feet. “You wouldn’t!”

Mark laughed. “Try me. Nothing like being called a meter maid when you’re a dude, huh? I’m sure your kid’ll get a kick out of that.”

“That’s plain ornery,” Townsend sulked.

“Yeah, well. Life sucks and then you die.” Mark walked to his desk and scooped up his keys. “Have that report sparkling and on my desk by the time I return, or I’ll start filing the papers.”

“Where ya going?”

“To The Depot.” Mark turned to Tim, who stood there like a pup wanting to go for a ride. “Didn’t you hear? I gotta go solve an unsolvable crime.”

Chapter Four

Mark followed Steve Baxter upstairs into his office of The Depot. The owner of the establishment held the door open for him to enter. The man obviously didn’t have a self-esteem issue based on the size of the tiny room. The area was about four-foot deep and at most, eight-foot long. The only things inside the office were a laminate desk, an old metal filing cabinet, and a PVC shelf that held a few stock items with a built-in cupboard above it. Obviously the owner had just pulled a small office together out of hand-me-down office equipment.

“It’s up here,” Steve said after grabbing a key out of the desk drawer to unlock the miniature doors housing the security tapes. It amazed Mark how lax business owners were with keys. “I installed the cameras a few years ago after cases of meat kept disappearing. I have one on the bar, one on the door, one in the kitchen, and another aimed at the storage shed out back. That’s the view you’ll be able to see the train tracks. All the cameras are on motion detectors, so as long as someone is there, it’s filming.” He laughed. “It’s never caught our ghost unfortunately.” Steve reached to the back of the cabinet, grabbed the cassette, and hopped off the chair he’d scooted in front of the shelving system. “I already changed the tape before you called this morning. I’ve gotten in the habit of doing it before I prepare the bank deposit.”

Mark listened to the man ramble as he peered out the two-foot square window. According to accounts, the woman who haunted the place had been known to stand at this window. He couldn’t help but laugh at that one. If she were a ghost, couldn’t she materialize through the walls if she wanted to see out?

He turned toward the man and accepted the tape. “I also need a list of whoever worked yesterday.”

The owner cocked his head. “I’m confused. I thought you said the man jumped in front of the train?”

Mark shrugged. “My job is to check everything, sir.” His job didn’t entail answering everyone’s questions. And there were always questions. The closer their proximity to the deceased or the scene, the more they thought he owed them answers. Mark never obliged until he had his answers first.

Steve removed a bright blue pushpin holding a computer-printed calendar on a corkboard organizer. He jotted down the names on the paper and handed it to Mark. “Anything else, Detective? Otherwise, I need to get to work. I’m sure we’ll be busy today. You know how curious the public is.”

Mark shook his head. “No. This’ll get me started, and yes, I do know.” He glanced down at the list. “By the way, did you know Devin Burke?”

“No. Not really.”

He tilted his head.

The short man, who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred thirty pounds soaking wet, leaned against the paper-covered desk. “Well, you know. You see people, but that doesn’t mean you know them. Never noticed him until a few months ago, and then I started seeing him daily, right before I left.” Steve stood and opened the door for him, reminding him subtly that he needed to leave. He locked the door behind them, and then continued, “I stick mostly to the dayshift. Lunch is our busiest time, and between my night manager and the bartender, they pretty much take care of things. I noticed Devin started showing up around happy hour. The only reason I recognized him was because he sat in the same spot and was always talking to Ashlyn, my night bartender.”

“Were they dating?”

He laughed. “Well, I don’t follow my employees’ personal lives, but yeah, there was something there, I’d guess.”

Mark nodded, appreciative to get his first lead. He extended his hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Baxter. I’ll replace the tape.”

He waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I have some unopened ones.”

“One last question if you don’t mind. Do you happen to have the bartender’s phone number?” Obviously, she would be the first person he needed to question.

“Sure, I have Ashlyn’s number right here.” He removed his phone from his pocket, clicked through a couple of keys, then read out the number.

Mark wrote the digits beside her name from yesterday’s schedule. How convenient. Ashlyn worked last night.

Chapter Five

Ashlyn listened to the voicemail message from Detective Mark Waters for the tenth time before walking into her statistics class. As she eased herself into her chair, she flipped her phone to silent mode. The professor immediately started teaching, but his words drifted through the air without penetrating her thoughts. Maybe some of it would seep into her brain because all she could do was replay the detective’s message in her head over and over, attempting to decipher if he suspected she was responsible for Devin’s death.

She turned toward the rectangular window that offered a spectacular view of the college’s common area, wishing she could appreciate the beauty of the blooming Yoshino and Kwanzan cherry trees with their pure-white and bright-pink blossoms. Pennsylvania in the springtime was like a tiny miracle every year. She always longed for the dark and dreary days of winter to cease, replaced by the vibrant colors of spring. She’d researched all the names of the trees she loved and added them to her design notepad of how she’d decorate her estate one day. She would make sure that her property had trees that were green year-round, interspersed with shrubs, flowers, and trees that bloomed at different intervals throughout the year, so her view would always be cheerful.

Now, her dreams of the perfect business, house, and life felt as though they would wither and die.

Inserting one of her earbuds, she decided to listen to the detective’s message one more time before deciding what to do.

Ms. Allan, this is Detective Mark Waters with Ed enbury Police Department. I’ m investigating the death of Devin Burke and would like to ask you a few questions. Please call me to set up a time that you can come into the station.

He left his office number and cell phone number, stating that she could reach him day or night at one of those numbers.

Tugging her turtleneck sweater around her chin self-consciously, she swiped away a tear. It hadn’t been her fault; she’d been protecting herself. She didn’t even understand exactly how it had happened. One minute he was hurting her, and she had defended herself with the only weapon she had, and the next he was dead.

She twisted a strand of her hair, resisting the urge to chew on it as she’d done as a child. Her mother would always slap her hand from her face, telling her to be a lady. Just as she’d done when she’d tried to replace the hair with her fingernail. Her mother had reiterated that if she wanted to be anything in life, she needed to use what the Good Lord had given her, all of it. Her intelligence coupled with her looks and body would take her wherever she wanted to go, she’d tell her.

Ashlyn released a sigh. The only place she might be going now is prison.

No, she reprimanded herself internally. The detective simply wanted to ask her questions. There was nothing proving that she’d had any part in Devin’s death. Nothing but the tape that is, she reminded herself. She needed to see what was on the tape. But between school and work, she wouldn’t be able to watch it until late tonight.

In order not to look guilty, she’d decided not to stay home from school or work today. To go on with her life as if she hadn’t heard anything had happened to her ex-boyfriend, since Devin had made it clear on her voicemail that he no longer wanted to see her. The only reason he’d even come into the restaurant last night was because she’d told him, “Fine! I don’t ever want to see you either.” She’d learned a long time ago never to fall on her knees and beg for anything. Men viewed that as weakness. If she acted as if she didn’t care, she’d have a better chance of keeping him. But then she’d said the words that had really ticked him off. She’d told him, “And no, I won’t be having an abortion.”

Chapter Six

Leaning back in his office chair, Mark clicked play on the antiquated system to watch the security feed. Who used tape anymore? Most businesses had gone to digital. Instead of watching the entire day, Mark fast-forwarded to about an hour before closing time, assuming whatever had happened that made Devin Burke commit suicide, happened before the bar closed, or directly afterward.

Six people sat around the bar, two couples, and two single men, no one resembling Burke’s description, even before he’d become bird food.

A woman stepped out of the ladies’ room, and Mark inclined forward. She was breathtaking. Long light hair restrained by a small clip fell around her shoulders. Since the image was black and white, he couldn’t be sure if she had blond or strawberry-blond hair, but based on the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, his bet was on strawberry blond. The woman stepped behind the bar as she dabbed at her eyes and then threw the tissue in the garbage. Ashlyn Allan? he wondered. She looked like an Ashlyn. But why did the first woman who’d caught his attention outside of work have to be one he had to interrogate? Of course, it wasn’t her fault that the guy she’d been most likely dating had jumped in front of a train. At least he hoped not.

Mark rested his chin on his clasped hands as he watched the bartender tally the tabs for the customers. In between the patrons finishing their drinks and paying their bills, she hand washed glasses in the sink, wiped down liquor bottles, and put juices and cut fruit in a small fridge under the counter.

After she’d escorted the last customer to the door, she threw her hands over her face, and her body wracked from what appeared to be her sobbing. Mark tilted his head in confusion; she’d seemed so together only seconds earlier. But she had been putting on a show in front of her customers.

She dried her tears with a tissue that she pulled out of her apron and then lifted her phone to her ear. Within seconds, she was pacing the area behind the bar, stopping only when she opened the cash register. She shoved all the money inside a bank bag, and then continued her pacing. Mark could see that she was having an argument. She threw her free hand in the air as if disgusted with the person on the other end of the line and then glared down at the phone as if she’d lost the connection.

Stuffing the phone in her apron, she snatched her purse from under the counter and disappeared up the service steps that led to the upstairs portion of the restaurant, the area where he’d been in the office.

Mark waited a few minutes, noticing how ghostly-looking the bar was without people. The plants swayed lightly as they had done the other night when a train had passed.

He stopped the tape.

If the train had already passed, the man had already jumped, and he’d be dead. He rewound the tape, concentrating on the scenes from different camera angles. The kitchen and front door feeds were blank, so no sensors had been tripped. He watched the shed area overlooking the train tracks. The tape was moving, so the train’s approach must have tripped it because nothing moved or caught his eye. Just a barren field behind the building with a shed and a few buckets and bags of trash. He waited a few seconds, and then, there it was … the train. But nothing else appeared in the scene.

His eyes darted to the left-hand side of the screen after the train had passed. The plants swayed as he’d noticed before. After a few minutes, the bartender came down the stairs, her head lowered as if she were still upset. She made her way toward the front entrance, unlocked the door, turned off the lights, and then left the building.

Nothing changed in the four-square scene on his screen. He pressed fast-forward, but still nothing changed. And then the screen went blank where nothing had been recorded. He fast-forwarded until the end of the tape, but nothing else appeared, which was impossible.

There should have been something else on the tape even if Devin never stepped inside the bar before or after it closed. He should have seen himself, Townsend, and the forensic team. But they weren’t there.

The manager had given him the wrong one. This was not last night’s tape.

Chapter Seven

Deciding she’d ignore the detective’s message, Ashlyn went directly to work after school, stopping long enough to grab a double-shot latte from Starbucks so she wouldn’t fall asleep halfway through her shift. She’d call him in the middle of happy hour when the bar was buzzin’. That way it’d be too loud to hear, and she’d have to call him later. Preferably, after she pulled herself together.

When she got to work, she went straight to the ladies’ room. As she suspected, she had black circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. She opened her makeup bag and dabbed a few dots of concealer under her eyes, touched up her face with some powder, and brushed a hint of blush over her cheeks to make her face appear cheerful and healthy, even if she wasn’t. Lastly, she dabbed on some lip gloss.

She appraised her perfectly flat belly, which would be round with life in a few months. How could she do this on her own? All her dreams. She might as well flush them down the toilet. Would Devin’s parents be interested in the child of the woman they didn’t even know existed? No. She couldn’t tell them. Right after they blamed her for their son’s death, they’d probably try to take her child. Her mother wouldn’t help. In fact, she’d chastise her for being irresponsible.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t used protection; they did. It wasn’t her fault the condom broke. Even though Devin had said it was her fault because she should have been on the pill. The fact was she wasn’t on the pill because she didn’t sleep around. She’d never even been with another man. She’d waited until she found the one whom she’d thought could make her dreams come true. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Never again.

She placed her hand over her tummy. Never again, she recited to her unborn child. I will have you, and I’ll do it on my own. She didn’t need a man to make her dreams come true as Momma had always pounded into her brain. “I’ll make my dreams come true, dammit!” she said aloud, but then blanched when the door opened.

Ashlyn sucked in a breath and took a long look at her face in the mirror. I’ll graduate before the baby is born. I’ll start looking for a job now before I start showing, and I’ll make it happen, she said to herself this time.

She pushed open the door and stepped out, ready to work.

The daytime bartender glanced at her, but didn’t smile. Instead, a look of sadness washed over her face. “I’m so sorry,” Corrine said, walking toward her. “I could cover your shift if you need me.”

Ashlyn hung her head. “No. I’m fine. I have to work.”

Corrine bit her bottom lip. “Do you know why he did it?”

“No. But honestly, Corrine, I don’t feel like talking about this. And could you keep this on the down-low? You’re the only one who knows I was dating Devin. I’d rather not have the media harassing me.”

The tall brunette dragged her to the side and whispered in her ear. “Well, they’ll still probably harass you. Different agencies were here all day. When Steve kicked them out, they returned, but as customers. They’d sit and not say anything and then they would subtly start asking questions, usually right after a big tip. At least that part was nice.”

Ashlyn huffed out a breath. That was all she needed.

“Really, if you want me to work, I will.”

“No.” She inhaled another deep breath. “I’d just be home moping.”

“Okay, hun. Lemme know. I’ll cash out then.” Corrine stepped behind the bar and closed out her register.

Ashlyn spent the next few minutes putting on a happy face, answering all her regulars’ comments: Can you believe it? Did you know him? Wow, what would make a good-looking boy like that kill himself?

Yeah, she wondered. Why would he? Had she hit him harder than she thought? She shook off the feelings and made herself busy cutting fruit for the evening, twirling cocktail napkins, and checking her back-ups of juices and sour mixes.

“Hey, Ash,” Steve called to her from the end of the bar as she was half buried beneath the counter.

She pulled herself upright and walked toward him. “Yeah?”

He nudged her around the bar. “Did the detective call you?”

She gulped. “Um … yeah, but I was too busy with school. I’ll call him when I’m not busy.”

“Okay. Do you know why —”

“No!” she said too loudly. “Why would I have any idea?”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. “Ash, I know you were seeing him.”

“Oh, God.” She dropped her head, wondering if he’d told the police.

“The detective who came by earlier asked for your number,” he continued.

She squeezed her eyes shut, silently praying that he hadn’t said anything to the police. “Did you tell him Devin and I were dating?”

“I said I suspected. Are you okay?”

She waved him off. “Fine. I have to work.” She walked behind the bar, attempting to push everything to the recesses of her mind. Of course, if she couldn’t do it in statistics, how would she do it in a job where she practically moved around like a robot? She turned around, as if in a daze, and noticed Steve hadn’t left. She narrowed her eyes at him. The last thing she needed was her boss to think she couldn’t handle her position.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I’m heading home, then. Call me if you need me to cover your shift.”

She definitely couldn’t afford to lose any shifts with a baby on the way. A baby. She shook the thoughts out of her head. Just concentrate on work.

Corrine was right; the restaurant buzzed with business. And for a little while, she was able to push Devin out of her thoughts. Until a group of barely-legal college kids sitting in one of the booths in the bar area started hammering her for details, that is. She politely ignored their queries, and eventually, they stopped asking.

As she turned away from the students, she noticed another gentleman had taken residence at the table in the corner. Rarely did anyone sit there because it was dark. There were no windows, and supporting columns blocked the TV screens, so customers couldn’t watch whatever sport was in season. In fact, the only people who usually sat there were employees.

“Hello,” she said as she approached him, forcing a smile.

The man smiled in response as he closed his menu, and Ashlyn couldn’t help but notice her smile morphed into an authentic smile. He was cuter than cute and dressed impeccably.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just water —” He paused. “On second thought, do you know how to make a Lynchburg Lemonade?”

Another smile lifted her cheeks. “Of course. Would you like something to eat too? I noticed you were looking at the menu?”

“Can I eat here?” he asked.

“Sure. Most single men —” She peeked down at his hand. “I mean, most single diners eat at the bar.”

“I better eat then. I haven’t eaten anything all day. I’ll take the Depot burger, but no fries. Can you substitute a salad or vegetable?”

She laughed. “Yep. Let me guess, vinaigrette dressing?”

He nodded, and she glided off, shaking her hips a little more than necessary. And then she mentally wanted to slap herself. Hadn’t she told herself that she didn’t need to look for a man? Especially after what had happened to her last night. But this guy appeared perfect. His clothes screamed money or possibly just good taste. Even his stance demanded attention. And he was so cute. Shorter hair than she was accustomed, but the dark brown hair with a hint of curl set off his deep green eyes. Greener eyes than she’d ever imagined possible. His shoulders were wide, but he wasn’t bulky. She appreciated a man who kept his body in tiptop shape. And skipping the fries, but keeping the hamburger said that he didn’t deny himself what he wanted; he simply made choices and had self-discipline.

Ashlyn keyed his order into the computer and grabbed a salad out of the cooler, along with a ramekin of vinaigrette on the side. She delivered the salad to his table, then reached behind the bar for her basket of rolled silverware and condiments. She set the items on the table. “I’ll be right back with your drink,” she said.

Normal servers would get a customer’s drink order first. But when she was out of the bar area, taking food orders, it was easier to get it all at once. Otherwise, she’d be stuck behind the bar. After making the Jack Daniel’s style lemonade and setting it in front of the handsome stranger, she remembered she needed to call the detective. She’d call his office number. That way, maybe he’d be gone for the day. She took out her phone and searched for the number she’d saved so she would know if he called again.

The call went directly to voicemail. She stooped down behind the bar as if she were reaching for something and cupped her hand over the phone to mask her words. “Detective Waters, this is Ashlyn Allan. I had school, and now I’m at work, so I’ll call you tomorrow.” She clicked end before she could say anything stupid. Her best bet was to act as if she had nothing to hide.

She straightened her body, smoothed her apron, and shot a glance around the bar. The good-looking man at her table was watching her. Feeling paranoid for no reason, she smiled and hurried to see if she could help anyone else.

Chapter Eight

Mark watched as Ashlyn flitted around the bar, doing everything she could to avoid eye contact with him, it seemed. Had she known he was the man she’d called, he wondered. She couldn’t have. When she’d returned her eyes to him, though, her eyes had darted away as if flustered. He’d caught her comment and glance at his left hand when he’d asked about food. He didn’t know how he felt about a woman flirting with a man the night after her boyfriend committed suicide, but then again, she flirted for a living. Her job counted on her being good at what she did, but it also required that she be friendly and flirty.

Unfortunately for him, as he’d suspected earlier, Ashlyn was an absolute knockout. And he’d been correct about the hair too. Just a hint of strawberry tint in those long blond curls, that for some reason he had an overwhelming desire to run his fingers through.

Forcing his mind to the current situation, as he always did, his thoughts returned to his jumper. Why would a twenty-five-year-old man, who he’d now verified had no money issues, a job waiting as Daddy’s CEO next month, and a hot girlfriend to boot, jump in front of a train? And Ashlyn wasn’t a big enough girl to have pushed him. Burke was six-two and one-ninety according to the coroner. Ashlyn couldn’t be more than five-six and a hundred twenty pounds fully dressed. He shook his head as he imagined her body without being fully dressed.

Ashlyn stepped to the table with a plate in her hand. “I went ahead and gave you a baked potato with your burger. It was all lonely by itself.” She set his dinner in front of him. “Can I get you anything else?”

Lonely indeed, he thought, still attempting to remove Ashlyn’s naked image, which was now keeping him company. “A-1 and one more of these, please.” He pointed to his drink.

She nodded and strolled behind the bar, returning a few seconds later with the bottle of steak sauce and another spiked lemonade. “Enjoy. Holler if you need anything else.”

He smiled as he watched her walk away, a nice view. As he ate, he observed everything she did. She stayed busy, but the few times she had downtime, he saw her fall into a trance, and even watched her wipe away a tear. So she wasn’t heartless; she was merely trying to work through the pain. He’d known that feeling far too many times. He recalled the video he’d watched earlier, how she’d been smiling and waving, and then her body had wracked with pain. He’d wanted to reach through the screen and hold her. Of course, he’d also wanted to know who was responsible for giving him the wrong tape. And since he didn’t think they were simply going to hand over the correct one, he decided the better path would be to do a little investigating.

Normally he wouldn’t drink, but hey, this was off-the-clock investigating. The captain wanted answers, but it didn’t mean the city would front overtime pay for those answers. Nope! They’d expect him to find those answers during his 8-4 shift.

After he’d finished his meal, Ashlyn cleared his plate. But since he was still sipping on the same drink, she didn’t offer a refill. Mark sat and watched as the restaurant filled and emptied several times. Ashlyn came by and made small talk a few times, brought him another drink, but then carried on with her duties.

Around eleven, there were only a few people sitting around the bar and a couple of servers finishing their tables. The beautiful blonde returned to his table, and this time, sat down across from him. “So why haven’t I seen you here before? Are you new to the area?”

“No. I usually come by at lunch. I know the owner, Steve,” he said, hoping she’d be a little more at ease that he wasn’t some stalker, even though in a way, he was.

“Oh. Cool! Steve’s awesome. I’ve worked for him for three years. It’s great work while I finish my undergrad.”

He nodded. Though he’d known most of that. He’d already done a background check. She’d never been in trouble, not even a speeding ticket, even driving a turbocharged Jetta.

“What’s your major?” he asked.

She smiled, and he enjoyed the slight flush in her cheeks. “Business. I figure it’s the most versatile. Whether I want to open my own business, run somebody else’s, or even teach, it’s a great degree.”

“I agree.”

“What do you do?” she asked.

Mark inspected the Gucci watch on her wrist, the diamond tennis bracelet on the other, her Lucky You jeans, and the eight-hundred-dollar biker boots she tended bar in, and smiled. Either she came from money, or she made sure she looked like it. She’d have no interest in a police detective. Although he did well with his other ventures, he couldn’t keep her in the style she was accustomed to. But for some reason, he’d wanted to believe that he could, so he decided to tell a half-lie, especially since he didn’t want her to know he was here to watch her, hoping he’d get some insight on what happened last night. “I have several ventures.” Which was true.

She stood up, dismissing him, making her way to the bar. She swapped coasters, replaced a few drinks, closed out another patron’s tab, and then found her way back to him. She dropped down in the chair again. “Okay … another question, since you obviously didn’t want to answer the last one. Why are you still here?” she asked point-blank. “You’ve never been here at night that I’ve seen, and suddenly, you’ve spent your entire evening at this tiny table. You can’t even see the TV.”

He smiled, wondering who the detective was. She was smart. He lifted his iPhone as an answer. “Fruit Ninja.”

She laughed. “You’ve been playing games all night? And here I thought maybe you were interested in me, but I wasn’t sure if I needed to call my big brother to escort me to my car.”

“Do you have a big brother that comes and does that?” Slipping into detective mode, he wondered. A boyfriend had her bawling the night before, and then maybe big brother shows the next night. That could work.

“No. I don’t have any siblings.”

“Oh.” He exhaled a breath of relief at that, but it also meant he was back to square one. “Well, I assure you, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m just chillin’ … for the first time in a long time actually.”

“You want another drink, then?”

“Might as well. I already have to call a taxi.”

“Oh, I could —”

“Ash,” a big guy at the end of the bar, hanging on to a tiny woman next to him, called out for her. “Close me out, will ya?”

She waved at the man, fixed Mark his drink and set it before him, and then skipped over to the mismatched couple.

Ashlyn and he were now the last two people in the bar. And it appeared all the kitchen staff had left as well. She ambled back to his table and slid down across from him again.

“Do you close by yourself every night?” he asked. “That seems awfully dangerous.”

She reached into her apron, pulling out a bottle of OC spray. “I used to keep it behind the bar; now I’ve decided to keep it on me. I know it’s not a failsafe, but I figure it’ll do the trick.”

“It definitely will.” He leaned over the small round table that kept them two feet apart. He’d downed a few too many, but man, they went down smoothly. But now he didn’t like what he was thinking. “So now what?”

“Well, the old saying in the restaurant business is, ‘If you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean.’ The bar rarely stays empty long. But if it does, I always have something that needs cleaning.”

He laughed. She wanted to clean, and he wanted to spin her across the wood floors. “You guys play music?”

She smiled. “Sure. What kind?”

“Something slow.”

While she moved to the bar and messed with the remote control for the TV, switching the sports channel to the music channel, he moved to the farthest stool at the end of the bar. When she turned, she gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Oh.” She dropped her hand and shook her head as if trying to shake off what had scared her. But her eyes glazed over.

Something inside Mark churned, and he immediately felt something for this woman. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” She shook her head again, exhaling a whoosh of air. “It’s just … you looked like … ”

“A ghost?” he asked, trying to lighten the situation. “I heard you have ghosts?” He let out a half-laugh, and she nodded.

“Yeah.” She inhaled another breath as if she were trying to get her bearings.

“Wanna dance?”

“No. I couldn’t. What if —”

He stepped around the side of the bar, took her hand, and pulled her out to the center of the floor. “What if,” he repeated. “It’s not as if you’re dancing on the bar. I told you … tonight’s the first time I’ve relaxed in a long time, even though I should be working,” he twirled her out once and pulled her back, “but you’re so darn beautiful.”

She huffed out a breath as if she didn’t believe him. “What type of work should you be doing instead of playing games on your iPhone and dancing with a stranger?”

He sighed. “I interview people.”

She scrunched her eyebrows together. “What does that mean?”

“I find out if people are telling the truth.”

She stopped moving and tried to pull back. “Don’t pull away yet, Ashlyn.”

Her eyes filled. “You’re scaring me. I don’t even know your name, and you’re asking me to dance, and you’re acting all strange. Who are you?”

“I swear I won’t hurt you. Keep your hand on the pepper spray if you like.” He smiled and drew her closer. With her boots, she was the perfect height that he could tilt his head and kiss those shiny pink lips that intensified the hint of strawberry in her hair, but then she’d really freak out. And then she would freak out again when she figured out who he was. “Just dance with me for a few more minutes. Tell me about your ghosts,” he whispered in her ear. He inhaled the spicy scent of her perfume. It suited her. No flowery smell; it was fiery like her. The song changed, and she retracted again, as if to end the dance. “One more, please,” he requested with a slow smile.

She laughed, seeming to relax in his arms. “We do have ghosts. In fact, Edda was my great-grandmother.”

“Edda?”

“You haven’t heard the stories?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I have?”

“If you live around here, most people have. At the time, the death of Edda Barrett was the most gruesome murder on record in this area. A man discovered her when he saw buzzards flying around her remains. She had nothing on but a shredded dress, her fingertips had been practically cut off, half of her jaw had been knocked out, and if that wasn’t enough, the murderer lit her on fire and dumped her in the river. Evidently she’d been seeing —” Ashlyn clasped her hands over her mouth, and then pulled away, darting to the bathroom. “Oh, my God,” she screamed as she entered the tiny room, the door slamming behind her.

Chapter Nine

Ashlyn leaned over the toilet and threw up what remained of her lunch while the man knocked on the door.

“Ashlyn, are you okay?”

She grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped her lips and then moved to the sink and washed her mouth out the best she could. Well, at least she wouldn’t be tempted to kiss the stranger, as she’d been when he was holding her.

Gawking at her image in the mirror, she almost expected to see her great-grandmother’s dead face glowering at her. She had heard all the stories, but she’d never seen her ghost. But the feeling that washed over her, the same feeling she’d had yesterday when Devin had attacked her, unnerved her. The déjà vu feeling made sense. Her great-grandmother had been brutally murdered by her boyfriend who was reportedly angry because she’d had his baby without him knowing while he was away at school. According to Ashlyn’s grandmother, who’d heard the story from her grandmother, Edda was supposed to drive to the boy’s parents and meet them for the first time. Edda had called her mother with exciting news, saying she was getting married and that she’d have a grand wedding. She hadn’t even told her parents who the boy was because he had wanted to make sure he told his parents privately.

The stranger knocked on the door again. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just nauseated. Give me a second, please.”

“Okay,” he said from behind the door.

She stopped hyperventilating and focused her thoughts on the man outside the door. He seemed like a nice enough guy. If he’d wanted to rape her, he surely could have by now.

Ashlyn stared into the mirror again. Her situation was almost exactly the same as what her great-grandmother had experienced. Devin had been mad enough that he might have killed her. As it was, he’d tried to choke her to death, but she’d fought back. Not that it had stopped him. Even after she’d hit him over the head with a liquor bottle, he’d not released her.

She’d always seen in movies where the bottle would break. She probably hadn’t smacked him hard enough. But then —

A knock interrupted her contemplations. “There’s a group of people out here,” the man called.

“Okay. Tell them I’ll be right there.”

She washed out her mouth again, used some tissue to dab the smeared mascara from under her eyes, and left the restroom, walking directly to the stranger. “What’s your name?” she demanded.

He looked like a puppy who’d been slapped on the nose. “You have customers.”

She turned and waved. “Hey, guys. I’ll be right there.”

“No problem,” Jeff, the tallest member of the group shouted, jumping onto a stool at the opposite end of the bar. The nurses came in several times a week. They worked three twelve-hour shifts a week, so when they worked the twelve-to-twelve shifts, they swung by before last call.

Ashlyn turned to him, her hands on her hips. “Who are you?”

He released a long breath. “Promise you won’t be furious? That you’ll give me a chance to explain, understand that I’m trying to help.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How can I promise that?”

“Take care of your customers and then come talk to me, okay?”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. “Okay … Mark … ” she ventured, watching as his face relaxed. Who else could he be? It still ticked her off that he was trying to get information from her underhandedly. But technically, he hadn’t asked her anything about Devin’s death, so maybe he was just observing her, making certain she wasn’t guilty. But what if she was? What if hitting Devin on the head had knocked something loose in his brain, causing him to race out the door?

“Last call, guys,” she told her regulars as she approached.

Their laughing and carrying on stopped as their faces fell. Jeff leaned his long body over the bar. “It’s only 12:15. We got forty-five minutes, sweetheart.”

“Not tonight, Jeff. Sorry. I have an emergency.”

Jeff flashed a look over her head. “Everything okay? That’s not the normal guy. Although, he looks friendlier. That other guy who was here every night always had a scowl on his face.”

“I’m fine, but really, I gotta close down the place.”

The rest of the group whined and moaned, but they’d just head down the road to Aggie’s Tavern, she knew.

Ashlyn followed them to the door, turned off the open sign, and then locked the door behind them. When she turned, Mark — at least she assumed his name was Mark — was right behind her.

“I guess our dance is over.” He released a nervous laugh. “And yes, I’m Mark. But honestly, I meant no harm.”

“Do I need an attorney?”

“I don’t know, do you? I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here because I saw the tape.”

She narrowed her eyes in confusion.

“Not last night’s tape, the previous night. I saw how upset you were.”

“I didn’t kill him —”

“Shh …” He stepped forward. “I’m not on duty, and I’m not interviewing you.”

She gulped, wondering why she felt such an attraction to this man whom she didn’t even know. Instinctively, she licked her lips as he leaned forward, but then remembering, she jerked her head to the side. “No! I need to brush my teeth.”

He stopped his forward motion and smiled. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that. I guess I need to call a taxi anyway.”

“I’ll drive you home,” she offered. “I mean … you’re a cop, right?”

“Detective.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t look like a detective.”

“Thank God!” He laughed.

“Give me a second. I have to put away my money.” She gathered her stuff from behind the bar, threw the money from her drawer in a bank bag, and ran upstairs. It’d never creeped her out to go upstairs alone before. But realizing that what had happened to her great-grandmother could have happened to her, she felt an unnerving chill sweep through her body as she made her way up the dark stairwell to the office. The Depot had been the last place Edda had been seen alive. Some customers had claimed to feel as if they were being choked. She wondered if the man who’d killed Edda had choked her as Devin had tried to kill her last night. Maybe the feelings Edda had were now felt by others who were sensitive. She was flesh and blood to Edda, though, and she’d never felt anything.

Ashlyn locked up her money and ran downstairs to where Mark stood by the door. She’d never dated a detective before. She’d always set her sights on businessmen. Some women wanted a doctor or a lawyer, but she’d done her homework. Unless they were specialists or owned a firm, they weren’t wealthy, and they worked too many hours. Whereas a businessman, real-estate developer, or construction company owner owned their business, could make their own hours, and there was no ceiling to what she could help turn the business into. But now that she regarded the handsome man leaning against the door, she couldn’t see any of that. She just saw him and how even though he didn’t know her but a few hours, he’d wanted to comfort her when she’d been scared. Somehow, that presented a better future than money could ever buy. Her mother had been wrong; she’d been wrong.

Chapter Ten

Ashlyn knew she was probably crazy, but for some reason, she trusted Mark. Instead of driving him home, she drove toward her apartment. When she passed the street he’d told her to turn down, she saw him lean forward out of her peripherals, but he didn’t ask. She felt his gaze as it seared her, as he had done when he’d held her in his arms, before she’d rushed to the ladies’ room.

She cast him a quick glance. “I have to brush my teeth.”

He laughed. “I had an extra toothbrush. You could’ve asked.”

“Yeah, but there’s something I need to show you.”

He didn’t comment, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. Probably not. He was a man, after all.

She hit the far-right remote on the visor and the gate opened to her complex. After winding along the tree-lined road and around the first set of townhomes, she hung a right onto her private driveway. She pushed the other remote, and the garage opened.

“Nice place,” Mark commented. “You’re not dealing, are you?”

Knowing he was joking, she laughed. “No. I save every penny I make.” He nodded in appreciation, apparently not used to a woman saying that.

Ashlyn ascended the stairs leading to her townhouse. The entire bottom floor was a garage with the living area on the second floor and the bedrooms on the third floor.

“Safe place,” were Mark’s only words as they climbed the steps.

“Yeah. The stairs can be a bear when I’m bringing in groceries, but at least I don’t have to worry about someone crawling in my bedroom window.”

“Exactly.”

She unlocked the main door and escorted Mark to the living room, then opened up the balcony doors. “Make yourself at home. If you want another drink, I have wine in the fridge.” She dashed up the stairs before he could comment. She should feel nervous having a complete stranger in her house, but oddly, she felt more at ease with him than any other man she’d brought here, including Devin. She decided to rinse off the grime of the day and brush her teeth in the shower so she’d be quick. It took her less than three minutes, and she was in her room, slipping into something more comfortable, her plush Victoria’s Secret sweatshirt and sweatpants. Comfortably dressed, she sauntered down the stairs. Now, she needed to work up the nerve to show him the tape. But first he needed to hear her side of the story.

Mark held a glass of wine in his hand, and another glass sat on the coffee table. Setting his glass down, he stood as she entered the room and closed the distance between them. Wasting no time, he pulled her into his arms, and Ashlyn couldn’t help but feel completely at ease with his advance. She wanted it, longed for it even. Desire surged through her body, tingling all the way to her fingertips. She wanted him, and she’d never wanted anyone. But there was still something they should be doing instead, the reason she’d brought him here. But — it could wait, she thought as his eyes gobbled her up. Not in a lustful way, but a passion, a mutual fire that burned between them, as if they were supposed to meet.

He moved his hand under her chin, nudging it slightly. His other hand found the clip in her hair. He removed it, dropping it on the table. As he combed his fingers through her hair, he pulled her tighter against his broad chest. Her heart thrashed so wildly in anticipation of his kiss that she was sure he’d hear it. He covered her mouth with his, smoothly parting her lips. His tongue expertly explored with gentle precision, as if finding its way and unlocking the entry to her soul. She tasted the chardonnay on his tongue and wanted more — of him. The wine could wait.

Her legs felt weak, and she was certain if his arms weren’t around her, she’d melt through the floor. She inched her fingers up his chest, wrapping her hands around his neck, wondering where this man had been the last few years. She’d never felt so much passion in a kiss.

Mark led her to the sofa, never breaking the kiss. He supported her body against the backrest as he continued to kiss her, running his fingers down the side of her face, her neck, and across her collarbone.

He finally broke the kiss, but only to move to her ear. “You are beautiful, Ashlyn. And so sexy.” He moved lower, his mouth nibbling its way down the side of her neck, tugging on her collar so he could kiss her fully.

She threw her head back at the feel of his warm lips on her skin. “Oh, that feels so good.” And it did. No one had ever kissed her with such passion, such fervor.

He bolted upright. “Oh dear Lord, Ashlyn.”

She sat straight, pulling the top of her sweatshirt higher around her neck. She’d forgotten.

“What on earth happened?” He reached toward her, and she tried to move away, but she was trapped between him and the arm of the sofa. “He did this to you, didn’t he?” Mark demanded.

She gulped, and tears poured down her face as she nodded her answer.

Mark lifted his hand again, as if asking permission. “May I?”

Unable to speak because of the tears strangling her voice, she nodded again.

He lifted her chin to reveal the marks she’d tried to cover. Shaking his head, he ran his hand across his forehead. “Please tell me what happened. I’m not on duty, and I want to help you.”

“I’m scared.”

Chapter Eleven

Mark lifted Ashlyn’s hands. “I know. If you did anything, stop right now, and we’ll find an attorney. But if you had nothing to do with his death, talk to me.”

She shook her head, but he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Why did she have to be the first woman he’d felt something for in three years? “He hurt you?”

She nodded again.

“Why?”

She shook her head as her face puckered, not wanting to tell him, it seemed. “I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.”

She nodded again. “Yep. That was his response until I told him I wouldn’t get rid of the baby.” She gasped for air. “He came in last night, right before closing. After everyone left, he grabbed me and shook me, demanding that he couldn’t ruin his life because of me …” she trailed off.

Mark squeezed her hands, encouraging her. She obviously wasn’t guilty, or she wouldn’t be talking.

“He screamed at me,” she continued. “He told me he’d pay me a hundred thousand dollars if I had an abortion. I knew then that money meant nothing to me. I wouldn’t kill my unborn child for money. So when I still refused, he started choking me.”

She dropped her head to her chest.

Mark nudged up her chin. “What happened?”

“I grabbed the only thing I could. A bottle of liquor. I hit him with it. But it didn’t break, and he kept coming. He knocked me against the bar and continued to choke me, and then he was gone.” Ashlyn shook her head. “I don’t know if I blacked out, but when I felt his grip release, I struggled to my feet and saw him running out the rear exit. Maybe he assumed I was dead …” Tears streamed down her face again. “I ran after him and I … I saw him run in front of the train, but I closed my eyes, knowing what would happen. Then not knowing what to do, I panicked. I grabbed my stuff and got out of there as fast as I could.”

Mark gazed into her eyes, realizing she’d told him the entire truth.

“Could my hitting him have caused that — caused him to run like that?” she choked out.

“You had every right to defend yourself, Ashlyn. But you said he kept coming, so obviously you didn’t hit him hard enough.” Mark pressed his hand against her cheek. “Where’s the tape? It’ll obviously clear you.”

She sucked in a deep breath and whooshed it out. Standing up on obviously wobbly legs, she trudged over to her purse. “I have an old VCR player upstairs.”

Mark stood. “Let’s go.”

He followed Ashlyn to her bedroom, admiring that she’d decorated it in different shades of cream and mauve. An antique-looking bed with an eyelet coverlet was the focal point of her master bedroom. His mother would love it; she was such a romantic at heart.

Ashlyn handed him the tape, pointing to the VCR player on her dresser. “I always loved fairy tales. I still watch my old childhood animated Disney movies on VCR tapes. Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid are my favorites.”

Mark smiled and pointed to himself. “Aladdin and Lion King.”

He walked over to the dresser and put it in the slot. He fast-forwarded the tape until he saw the scene. He turned to her sitting on the bed. “You shouldn’t watch this,” he offered.

She nodded, burying her head into one of the lace-covered throw pillows.

Mark hit play and then stood in front of the small TV, blocking her view in the event she got the urge to look. It was one thing being attacked. It was another to watch it. He’d seen women break into violent tears after viewing their attacks that had been caught on security cameras. One woman had actually been raped in an elevator in between floors. Sickos, he thought.

He continued to watch the video, seeing the events play out exactly as she’d described. But then he recoiled at an image she hadn’t described, a gasp escaping his throat.

The bed squeaked as Ashlyn must have jumped up, appearing at his side at the same time the recording showed Devin Burke darting out of the building, her following him a few seconds later. Mark stood there with his hand over his mouth, not believing what he’d seen.

“What was it?” Ashlyn shrieked. “What did you see?”

He turned to her, feeling the blood rush through his body as his heart pounded out a vicious rhythm. “You weren’t to blame, Ashlyn.” He ran his hands through his hair, willing his heart to slow so he could speak, wondering if he should tell her. The image he saw was clear; he hadn’t imagined it. Now he understood what had made Devin run in fear.

Ashlyn’s eyes grew round as she stared at him, waiting for an answer. “What did you see, Mark?”

There was no way to describe what he saw, but he knew whom he saw. “Your great-grandmother.”

This is the end of The Depot, but read on for a sneak peek at the follow-up novel, which begins six months later in The Library, or head on over to my website, www.CarmenDeSousaBooks.com, where you can find the links to all my books.

1

Sneak Peek - The Library

Wade inserted his key into the deadbolt of his front door the same time he did every night. Only this time, the door glided open as though some unseen force had invited him inside. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Usually he’d hear the sound of the TV, a kitchen timer alerting that dinner was ready, or the constant boom from the stereo upstairs. But this evening, tomblike silence greeted him.

She’d threatened to leave; he just hadn’t believed her. After all, she’d been grumbling that same nonsense for twenty-two years. A romantic getaway for two would straighten her out.

Their only child was going off to grad school in a few weeks. So for the first time in their marriage, they’d be childless. His life had changed the night she told him she was pregnant two weeks away from high school graduation, but it hadn’t stopped him from working his butt off to accomplish his dreams. Yeah, he had to work two jobs, go to night school, and function without sleep, but they’d made it. They had a beautiful house in Edenbury, Pennsylvania, two stylish vehicles in the driveway, and their daughter was heading off to Harvard.

And as soon as he finalized the contract he’d been working on for the last year, Wade could take Vanessa on as many getaways as she wanted. He’d cashed the first check on his way home. Just the first installment was more than they’d made their first ten years of marriage. That’d get her eyes twinkling again.

Burnt meatloaf singed his nostrils as he ventured into the kitchen in search of his wife. She’d killed their dinner again. His wife would get so busy typing that she’d forget everything around her.

He turned off the oven, but left the charcoaled mess inside. Last thing he needed was the new smoke detector he’d installed to go off, once again alerting the neighbors how often his wife nearly burnt down their house.

Wade emptied his pockets of his money clip, keys, and receipts onto the credenza by the stairway, as his wife had always requested, then started upstairs. “Vanessa honey,” he called as he trudged up the wooden steps, knowing she wouldn’t hear him, but he tried anyway. He gripped the banister, pulling himself forward. He was too tired to climb stairs before eating. But since she always wore her headphones when she worked, she wouldn’t hear if he screamed at the top of his range.

Tugging at his tie, he pushed open their bedroom door. Maybe they could have a quick romp before dinner, get a taste of what it’ll be like to be empty nesters.

Not believing his eyes, he launched headfirst toward his wife. “No!” he screamed.

Out of his peripherals, he saw a long black rod, but it was too late to react. The little bit of light in the room extinguished the moment the object made contact with his skull, leaving him in a pit of blackness, a nightmare he’d never escape.

2

Chapter One

Detective Mark Waters stretched his long legs in his favorite corner table of the dimly lit restaurant. Other than alarm calls as a patrol officer, he only came here for lunch, and his table had always been open because most customers didn’t want to sit in the corner where they couldn’t watch TV or view the outside patio area. From his vantage point, though, he could see the entry, the downstairs seating area, the booths surrounding the bar, the upstairs dining area, and the hanging plants that swung gently overhead. It’d been several minutes since the last train had passed within thirty feet of the old train station, and yet, the dangling green vines continued to sway, as though dancing to a song only they could hear.

Despite the ghost stories, he loved the old building that dated back to the late 1800s. It had history and character. The famous haunt had been a brothel, a boarding house, a saloon, and then finally the food and spirits eatery it is today.

He sat within inches of the small restroom where many of the supposed occurrences had taken place. Close enough that if a mouse crawled across the linoleum floor, he’d hear it. He’d had to enter the ancient structure countless times as a patrol officer when the alarm went off at four a.m. It’d happened so many times that the owner had given the police station a key.

Tonight, however, he was here for a different reason — death. Something he’d never escape, since he’d decided to follow in his father’s footsteps as a homicide detective. His father had been dead for almost twenty years, and he was still trying to earn his respect.

“Waters,” the pudgy, seasoned detective, Tim Townsend, called from behind the bar. Townsend had always taken it upon himself to throw back a couple of shots when he came here. He’d done the same thing on Mark’s first call to the restaurant when Tim was his FTO. When Tim was his field-training officer, he wouldn’t have dared to utter a word, but now Mark held rank as lieutenant.

“You better put a five in the till, Tim. And you better not have more than one.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” Tim pulled out a bill that Mark was certain was a one and shoved it into the slit of the drawer of the outdated cash register. “But like I was sayin’ …” he squeezed his large belly through the bar entrance and walked over to where Mark sat. He rested his hand on the ladies’ bathroom door, but then removed it as if it’d burnt him, and instead, leaned against the solid wood bar. “Did I tell you about the time I was searchin’ The Depot and got stuck in that little hall in the ladies’ bathroom?”

Mark rested his chin on his fist, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Several times.”

“Really, Dude. Look.” Townsend reached out, opened the ladies’ bathroom door, and pointed. “I can’t even fit in between those two doors. And yet, I turned and banged on every wall, and I couldn’t get out. Larry was here; he heard it.”

Mark sighed in response to Tim’s claim, several officers’ claims actually. But he’d been coming here for years, and he’d never heard a peep or seen an apparition, as had been claimed for years by officers, customers, and naturally, the owners. The proprietors loved the extra business they’d received since the TV show American Haunts had featured the restaurant, even brought in a medium who had in fact sensed several presences. “I know, I know,” Mark said. “The place is haunted. I’ve heard all the stories.”

Tim shook his head and returned to leaning against the bar. “What are we waitin’ for?”

“Forensics. What else?”

Townsend raised his hands in the air. “Why? Dude jumped in front of a train. End of story. Guess we’ll have another lost soul wandering around the old joint.” Tim chuckled at his attempted joke, but then his eyes darted around the eerie edifice as if the dead man might appear because of his callous comment.

Waters huffed out a breath and rubbed his head. “You sound like a teenager for God’s sake, not a forty-five-year-old man.”

The middle-aged man shrugged as a dismissal. Tim had never cared what people thought of him, a characteristic Mark admired in the burnt-out detective. “Wife and son moved back.” He adjusted his belt around his large waistline. “Guess the punk wears off on me. Kid can’t seem to call me anything but “dude,” but hey, at least we’re talking.”

Mark threw his chin up in acknowledgement. “Congratulations, man. That’s great.” Considering Townsend probably called his son “punk” to his face, sort of accounted for the “dude” instead of “dad.” That wouldn’t have happened in his house. Even at eight, Mark remembered his father demanding reverence. Of course, he doled out respect also. His father had always spoken to him as though he were much older and would frequently discuss the cases he was working, almost as though Mark were his sounding board.

The older detective puffed out his chest a fraction and then scraped a barstool across the floor to sit. “So … how are things? Any new lady friends you care to share some salacious details on? Since we’re just sittin’ here.”

Waters shook his head. Tim was the horniest man he knew, the reason his wife kept leaving him. If he wasn’t picking up a new woman, he was looking for juicy tidbits from the other cops at the department. Mark never shared stories. Not that he had anything interesting to reveal even if he wanted. His sex life had been practically nonexistent for the last couple of years. His job was his lover, and she kept him busy day and night. At twenty-eight, he should be thinking about a wife and kids, but his father had waited until he was forty to marry, so he had time.

“What did you say?” Mark asked the detective who had wandered behind the bar again, sniffing around the booze.

Tim tilted his head as he held up a bottle of the cheap stuff this time, requesting permission. “I asked if you had any new lady friends.”

“I mean after that.”

“Nothin’, man.”

“You didn’t mutter something under your breath?”

“You know me, Waters. If I’ve got somethin’ to say, I’ll say it.”

Mark did know that. Still, he could have sworn he heard him whisper something.

The bells over the door sounded, and the forensic team — all two of them — stepped inside the bar. “You tending bar tonight, Tim?” Roland bellowed.

“Nah … just checking stuff.”

Roland laughed. “Sure ya are … Where’s the human hamburger?”

Crossing the room to greet Roland, Mark gestured toward the rear exit. “It’s not pretty.”

The head of forensics shook his head. “Never is, Waters. But hell, when you’ve seen it as many times as I have, you hardly even notice the smell.”

“Well, there isn’t a death-smell yet. Just that uncooked-meat odor that keeps me from cleaning raw chicken at home.”

Roland walked out the rear door, and the new woman — who’d started in the last few months — Anna, he remembered, followed Roland outside, casting a quick glance in Mark’s direction. He’d noticed her too in the last few weeks, but had been trying to ignore his attraction. It was merely the reddish-blond hair, he told himself. He’d always been a sucker for strawberry blondes. But the last time he’d dated a woman close to his job had not worked out well, so he ignored his desire. He was great at ignoring his wants, since he’d been doing it so long.

The door creaked open again. Surprised, Mark turned toward it; he hadn’t expected anyone other than the two of them. It closed after lolling open a couple of seconds. He walked to it and pulled it closed until the latch clicked. Anna obviously hadn’t realized that old buildings required extra attention, unlike new hardware that closed on its own for energy savings.

“Ready?” Tim’s booming voice rang in his ear at the same time his heavy hand clamped onto Mark’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Mark turned, laughing. “You scared the —” He swallowed his words as he noticed Tim was still behind the bar.

3

Chapter Two

Ashlyn didn’t waste any time the next morning. When her alarm sounded at six a.m., she jumped out of bed and scurried to her closet to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. It’s not as though she even needed the alarm, since she’d never fallen asleep. How could she possibly have slept after what had happened?

She brushed her teeth in lightning speed. Hesitantly, afraid of what she might see, she examined herself in the mirror. The marks surrounding her neck were already yellow and blue. She ran back to the closet and found an old turtleneck sweater she hadn’t worn in years. The weather was still cool enough that no one would question her. They’d just wonder why she was wearing something so unfashionable when she was always the height of fashion. She’d found out a long time ago that her looks would only take her so far. If she wanted to make it in this world, she had to be someone. At twenty-two, she was close to getting her undergrad degree. ’Course, she couldn’t care less to work her way to the top of the corporate ladder; she wanted to run her own company. Her sights were on meeting a successful businessman. After she finished her classes for the day, she’d head over to a different coffee shop or hotel bar, always on the lookout. In the evenings, she tended bar because it was the easiest way to make the most amount of money in the least amount of hours. Also, there was always the likely chance she’d meet the man of her dreams as he was leaving work or having a meeting with other wealthy men.

Almost every dime she earned went to her apartment, her car, her appearance, whatever it took to get what she wanted. And she had thought that she had found her golden ticket. Until she had gone and screwed up. She had actually liked Devin, maybe even loved him. Foolish! She had never considered, never expected what he was capable of. She still couldn’t believe it.

Choking back the tears as she thought about everything that had happened wasn’t easy, but she had to ignore it and get there. She ran to her Jetta, hopped in, and sped toward the restaurant. She chanced a glimpse at the clock as she raced down the highway: 6:30. Good. She still had a little over an hour before the owners showed.

When Ashlyn arrived, she parked on the far south side of the building, away from employee parking, hoping that if anyone drove by, they’d assume she left her car there overnight. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. She always moved her car around before it got dark, so she wasn’t walking across a pitch-black parking lot by herself at three a.m. As she neared the door, she spotted Devin’s Jaguar Convertible and the police tape surrounding it. They must have assumed it was his since it was the only car left in the parking lot. The slanted headlights of the XKR-S seemed to follow her as she raced toward the entry.

Since she was the last one to leave, she had her own set of keys. In the beginning, the owner had returned nightly to shut down the business. But after three years of service, Steve trusted her to lock up. She’d never realized how important that was before now. Then again, if he’d been there last night, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the keys in the front door. Her boss would be here by eight, so she had to hurry. She emptied the contents of her drawer into the bank bag and sprinted upstairs to the office where she was supposed to lock up her money after her shift. She struggled with that key too, her heart racing even faster than it had the previous evening. She should have already done this, but she had been so scared and wanted to leave before the police arrived.

Once inside, she grabbed the key out of the desk drawer and dragged a chair to the wall, carefully balancing as she stood so she could reach the overhead cabinet. Steve wasn’t technical. If she replaced the tape, he’d never know. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to check what was on it. She’d have to grab it, replace it with the tape from the previous evening, and get out. The system they used was simple; he’d shown it to her once when they had gone on vacation and needed her to help watch the place. All he did was rotate the previous night’s tape to the rear and insert the front tape in the machine. He kept thirty days’ worth in the event he had to research anything. Truly, the security tapes were to watch employees. But if a robbery ever occurred, the owner would catch it on tape. And since all employees knew this practice, nothing went missing. Steve couldn’t afford for bottles of liquor or New York strip steaks to grow legs and walk out the door.

Ashlyn felt horrible betraying her boss’ trust, but this had nothing to do with them and everything to do with her. She wasn’t sure how much was on that tape, but she knew she would be the first person the police would question in Devin’s death.

4

Before you go …

Thank you for reading The Depot, the second story in my mystery collection with a ghostly edge. If you haven’t read The Pit Stop, it is where I first introduced Detective Mark Waters. Please look for it at all major book retailers, or you can find links on my website: www.CarmenDeSousaBooks.com. It’s FREE where allowed.

The next story in the series, The Library, which is a novel, stars Detective Mark Waters as well. Readers asked for more of him, and I always listen to my readers. So make sure you cast your votes for what you’d like to see in my future books via your review or at any of my cyber homes. I love talking about all things books, so look me up.

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Although all of my stories have a common thread: romance, mystery, and suspense, not all of my novels are supernatural. My first five books are romantic-suspense whodunits. They are all stand-alone novels; however, I do link each of my stories with a little surprise. I also write paranormal romance, the Creatus series.

You can find all my books on my website: www.CarmenDeSousaBooks.com

Please … please … please … if you enjoyed this short story, leave a review. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just a few words to let other readers know if they should download it too. It means so much to an author to hear what readers loved — even didn’t love — about a book. It’s how we grow and learn what you want to read next time … and in the case of a series, which characters you want to see more of in the next books or which ones we should knock off. 🙂

Thank you again!

Carmen