The ghost in the curve, p.1
The Ghost in the Curve, page 1
The Ghost in the Curve
Cedar Creek Mysteries, Volume 1
Violet Howe
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, events, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
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No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage & retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author.
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www.violethowe.com
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Cover Design: Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
www.gobookcoverdesign.com
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Published by Charbar Productions, LLC
(e-v6)
Copyright © 2016 Violet Howe/LM Howe/Charbar Productions, LLC
All rights reserved.
E-book ISBN: 978-0-9964968-7-2
Print ISBN: 978-0-9964968-6-5
Contents
Note from the Author
Books by Violet Howe
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Epilogue: Six Months Later
Also by Violet Howe
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Thank You
For Chloe, who left us much too young to know where life would lead her
&
For the brave warriors of law enforcement and our armed forces,
along with the families they leave at home.
Your sacrifice does not go unnoticed.
Note from the Author
I knew from the beginning that Tristan and his brother had served their country in the armed forces, and that they both had been changed forever by the experience.
Then as I was writing this story, Humans of New York featured a series on The Headstrong Project, a comprehensive treatment program for veterans in need of mental health care.
The stories shared touched my heart and made an emotional impact on me. I was moved to donate in support of the project and to include its name in my story in hopes of raising awareness for its cause.
The numbers are staggering. According to The Headstrong Project website, “for every soldier we have lost in combat, 25-30 take their own lives.”
The stigma surrounding getting help for mental health issues needs to end. Just as a soldier would be expected to seek help for a physical injury, they should be equally encouraged to treat their mental and emotional scars.
Please visit The Headstrong Project to learn more about how they are able to help our brave men and women heal the “hidden wounds of war.”
www.getheadstrong.org
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Books by Violet Howe
Tales Behind the Veils
Diary of a Single Wedding Planner
Diary of a Wedding Planner in Love
Diary of an Engaged Wedding Planner
Maggie
THE CEDAR CREEK COLLECTION
Cedar Creek Mysteries:
The Ghost in the Curve
The Glow in the Woods
The Phantom in the Footlights
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Cedar Creek Families:
Building Fences
Crossing Paths
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Cedar Creek Suspense:
Whiskey Flight
Bounty Flight
Fallen Bloodlines:
Vampire Born
Angel Reborn (2024)
Soul Sisters at Cedar Mountain Lodge
Christmas Sisters
Christmas Hope
Christmas Peace
Christmas Secret
Christmas Promise
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Sail Away Series
Welcome Aboard
Moonlight on the Lido Deck
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Click here or visit www.violethowe.com to subscribe to Violet’s monthly newsletter for news on upcoming releases, events, sales, and other tidbits.
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Or join her Facebook reader group, the UltraViolets, for fun interaction, advance news, exclusive content and giveaways.
Chapter 1
I never believed in ghosts before I met her. Ironic, I realize, since my entire career was based on my role as a ghost slayer. Those on-screen opponents weren’t real, though. They were movie magic, added in post-production. Truth is, I never even saw them.
I’d like to think it speaks to my brilliant acting abilities. I mean, I could make an audience believe I saw the same thing they did when all I was doing was staring into thin air against a green screen. Occasionally I got to play off an actor stand-in who’d be replaced in digital editing. But it was all special effects. Smoke and mirrors. An illusion not grounded in reality.
Sort of like my life.
I don’t know when I lost sight of who I was and who I wanted to be, but I know that all I wanted that night was to escape who I’d become—a washed-up scream queen who’d passed her point of expiration.
I never knew twenty-nine could feel so old.
“The desired demographic can’t relate to you anymore, Sloane,” Douglas had told me as my trembling hands held the letter explaining my release of contract. “You were sixteen when your first movie hit the big screen. The girls who idolized you for kicking ass with the after-lifes have grown up. They’ve gotten married, had kids. They’re watching animated Disney flicks now. And the younger generation sees you as too old. You don’t have an audience.”
“But you’re my agent. Can’t you tell them to find me something new? I have two more movies left in my contract. Can’t we option that for a different script? Maybe a comedy? I could do comedy.”
Douglas sighed and crossed his arms as he leaned half-sitting, half-standing against his large oak desk. “You don’t have a contract anymore, babe. They’ve exercised the opt-out. You get one lump sum payment, and they’re no longer obligated to you.”
“But...I...but...you...”
The words died away in my throat.
I guess I should have seen it coming. Numbers for the last two films had been down, but I’d blamed the scripts. The marketing efforts had been lackluster. We’d opened against some strong contenders.
Douglas had talked to me after the last film wrapped production—was that a year ago already?—about branching out and seeking new projects, but I’d felt safe in my world. I knew how to be a scream queen. I knew how to navigate those waters. Put me in charge with some supporting characters backing me up against pissed-off, misplaced spirits, and in the end, I always saved the day.
I didn’t know how to be any other kind of actress. The mere thought of being a small player in some ensemble cast where I’d have to show the world I could really act was far more terrifying than any digital ghost I’d encountered.
So I’d done nothing. And now I had nothing to do.
“Take a vacation, babe,” Douglas had suggested as I sank back in the chair and let the letter fall from my hands. “It’ll do you good. Take some time off. Lay on a beach somewhere. Find a hot guy to hook up with and generate some tabloid attention. I’ll look for script opportunities and if I find something, I’ll send it to you right away. You can read it in a lounge chair with an umbrella drink in your hand.”
Then he’d ushered me out of his office with a brief squeeze of my elbow and an air kiss.
I didn’t want an umbrella drink. I didn’t want to lie on a beach somewhere contemplating my future, or lack thereof. And I certainly didn’t want any tabloid attention. I could see the headlines flashed across the stands already.
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Washed-up Scream Queen Drowns Sorrows in Aruba
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Ghosts’ Worst Nightmare Faces Nightmare of Her Own
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Sloane Reid Does Best Acting Yet Pretending Not to Care about Her Future
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So I begged my publicist to keep the story from surfacing for a few days, and I called my Aunt Virginia to see if I cou
“Of course, you’re welcome to stay there! Why, it would actually be a godsend for you to open up the place and air it out. I don’t make it down there much since your uncle Ted died. I’d say it’s been three years at least. I have a man who keeps the outside tidy, but the inside will need some sprucing when you get there. Dust and such.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Aunt Virginia. I just need some peace and quiet. A few days’ rest.”
“Oh, you’ll find it there! Most peaceful place on earth, Ted used to say. So you’re in between films, then?”
That was one way to put it. In between. I just had no idea when the next one would come. Or if it would.
“Yes, ma’am. Just taking a little break.”
“We all need that from time to time. Let me give you the security code for the alarm system. You gotta pen?”
For the life of me, I don’t know why she bothered to install an alarm system. I doubt any burglars could find the place to rob it.
They’d built the house high upon a hill overlooking Cedar Lake with the small town of Cedar Creek in the distance across the water. Dense woods lined both sides of the narrow, winding road that led from the town to the property, and the cabin was completely blocked from view behind tall, thick pines that surrounded its perch at the top of the hill.
The driveway was at the end of a sharply banked curve that hugged the lake, and if you weren’t looking for it, you’d never know it existed. Hell, I was looking for it and I still missed it, even as the GPS was announcing that I had arrived. Navigating the hairpin curve took my focus away from the road ahead, but I don’t think I would have seen the driveway anyway, hidden like it was by the overgrown bushes on either side.
Of course, it didn’t help that it was pitch black out. I hadn’t wasted any time leaving L.A. after my meeting with Douglas and my call to Aunt Virginia. I took the last flight out to Orlando, anxious to get out of town and leave it all behind. In hindsight, I should have gotten a hotel room near the airport when I landed and waited to find Cedar Creek in the morning light. My mind had fixated on one goal, though. I had to get to the cabin so I could have my nervous breakdown in private.
When I’d finally found a place to turn around in the dark and make my way back toward the curve, I held the GPS in my hand on the steering wheel and still almost missed the drive again. No markers. No mailbox. No way to find it if you weren’t seriously looking.
As I made my way up the twists and turns of the steep gravel drive with the light from my headlights bouncing off the pine trees, it looked more like one of my movie sets than a welcoming retreat.
“I swear, Aunt Virginia,” I said aloud. “Would it have hurt to invest in some outdoor lighting?”
When I finally reached the cabin, I fought the urge to turn around and head straight back into Cedar Creek. The prospect of finding a hotel in a town with one traffic light was slim, but the dilapidated, rundown building trapped in the beam of my headlights didn’t look promising.
Truth be told, I’m nowhere near as fearless as my on-screen alter ego. Lucy Landry would have bounded out of the car without a moment’s hesitation, spectral sword drawn and ready for action. But she has the advantage of being on set surrounded by cast and crew. I was alone, and I wasn’t overly eager to exit the car and venture inside a dark cabin that had been all but deserted for the last three years. I switched off the engine and sat to contemplate my options.
I could see nothing around me but trees and night. Lots of trees and a whole bunch of night. Wispy tendrils of Spanish moss hung low from the branches above me, swaying and dancing on the evening breeze. As the popping and sighing of the cooling engine subsided, a chorus of crickets and frogs serenaded me.
Weighing the fright factor of sleeping in the car against venturing inside the house, I was leaning toward the car. I even fumbled with the levers to see how far back the driver’s seat would recline, but I’d opted for the value rental, and it was short on amenities.
I took a deep breath and another quick look around. It wasn’t getting any less spooky.
“This is ridiculous,” I called out. “I make a living off other people’s fears. I’m the Spectral Slayer. I’m not scared of anything.”
The feeble attempt didn’t accomplish much bolstering. After all, technically, I’m not the Spectral Slayer. Lucy Landry is. I’m just Sloane Reid, and she’s scared of plenty of things. Including dark, deserted cabins in the middle of dense woods.
I exhaled loudly and looped my fingers through the handle of my suitcase in the passenger seat, wishing I had a few weapon props from the set to brandish and make me feel less defenseless. The last thing I wanted was a headline saying “Washed Up Scream Queen Sloane Reid Dies in Suitcase Battle” with an accompanying article detailing how my body was found amid my T-shirts and undies.
My hand hovered over the door handle a moment more before I swung it open and stepped out into the night. The loud chime from the open door rang out obnoxiously, and I shut it quickly. The interruption had quieted the frogs and crickets, and the air hung heavy with the lack of sound. I didn’t dare turn off the headlights before heading for the cabin’s porch, and every step toward the house I prayed the lights wouldn’t suddenly go off on their own as they would have in the movies.
I found the key under the flower pot where she’d said it would be. It turned easily in the lock, and though I had pictured a swarm of bats overtaking me as I opened the door, it was surprisingly anti-climactic. With a flip of the switch, the room was immediately awash in light.
Sheets covered every available piece of furniture, lending an eerie ambience that did nothing to welcome me or assuage my uneasiness. I reminded myself again that this was the quaint cabin my aunt and uncle had enjoyed for most summers of their marriage, and not the horror movie set it resembled. I half expected to turn and see a camera crew off to one side, or at the very least, wires and boom mics.
The headlights blasting through the front window blinds only added to the spooky decor, so I flipped on the porch light and went to the car to turn them off. Just as I shut the car door, a stick cracked in the woods to the right of me, piercing the silence. My mind immediately conjured an image of the heavy step that caused it. I took off running as though my life depended on it, sure in that moment that it did. My heart pounded as I covered the short distance between the car and the porch, refusing to look back in case something had emerged from the shadows and was closing in on me as I took the porch steps two at a time.
I slammed the cabin door behind me and slid the deadbolt in place just as I heard the alarm trigger.
