Hauntings in the Garden, Volume Two Read online

  Hauntings in the Garden

  by

  Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Stacy Dawn

  Veronica Lynch

  Anne Knol

  Volume II

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Hauntings in the Garden Volume II

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by…

  Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Stacy Dawn

  Veronica Lynch

  Anne Knol

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, 2015

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0432-8

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0431-1

  Published in the United States of America

  Unlocked Treasure by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Love Her Like the Devil by Stacy Dawn

  Caper Magic by Veronica Lynch

  ShriekWeek by Anne Knol

  Unlocked Treasure

  by

  Linda Carroll-Bradd

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Unlocked Treasure

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by R.J. Morris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2014

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-602-6

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my Friday Plot Group—thanks for the suggestions

  Chapter One

  Aleen balanced the rental bicycle on the sandy path and stared at The Atlantic Inn. Happy, laughing people mingled on the veranda of the three-story Victorian hotel, probably eating fancy hors d’oeuvres and raising champagne toasts to the newly married couple.

  A twinge of regret cramped her fingers tighter around the handlebar. Today was supposed to be her fantastic, unforgettable day. Today she was supposed to be the gorgeous, smiling bride in the flowing white dress. Today the new groom was supposed to be looking at her with an adoring gaze after pledging unending devotion. Did I screw up my future by breaking our engagement when Ethan re-upped his commission on the USS Neptune?

  Growing up the daughter of a career Navy man should have taught her how much heartbreak the sea can inflict. She scoffed and gave the bike a big shove to get it onto the hard-packed path. A familiar ringtone chimed from the straw purse perched in the bike’s wire basket, and she reached inside to retrieve her cellphone. Seeing her best friend’s name on the caller ID made her hesitate.

  Mitzi would be compassionate and understanding like always, and Aleen didn’t know if she could stand to hear that poor-Aleen tone. Instead, she wanted to wallow in her self-pity a while longer. She tossed her phone back in her purse, then lifted her foot through the bike’s frame and stepped down on the pedal, churning up the slight incline.

  A chirp sounded, announcing the arrival of a text. “But I can’t talk, my friend. I’m operating a moving vehicle,” she said to the purse. After a dozen more circles of the pedals, she quit pushing and let the bike glide to a stop. What if Mitzi was calling for something else? How bad would she feel if she ignored her best friend in a time of need? She probably wanted to share the latest detail of her pregnancy.

  Aleen dug out her phone and glanced at the screen.

  Don’t ignore me. I need to talk. The text read.

  With a loud sigh, she swiped a finger to display the voice mail screen and then tapped call. “Hello, Mitzi.”

  “I’m so sorry, Aleen. I just now looked at the calendar and realized what weekend this is. How are you doing?”

  That tone. She gritted her teeth. “I’m fine.”

  “Did you follow my advice and plan something fun to take your mind off the date?”

  “I did, and it worked.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. This was her best friend since first grade—they told each other everything. Sometimes, more than Aleen wanted to hear but hey, that’s what happened with BFFs. “I’ve barely thought about my botched romantic life.”

  “Oh, good. Hey, I’m having trouble hearing you. Did you get a mani-pedi, or order up one of those special hot stone treatments at the spa?”

  “Noooo, I’m hiking.” She stepped away from the bike and took a few steps in each direction, swinging her free arm in a pantomime of hiking.

  “Hiking? How is that pampering yourself?”

  Overhead, a cormorant screeched and was answered by a call from over the beach.

  Aleen winced and covered the bottom of her phone. Maybe Mitzi hadn’t heard that. She uncupped her hand. “I’m getting exercise out in the fresh air. You’re always telling me I spend too much time with my nose in a book.”

  “Aleen Fenella MacRae, you’re out on Block Island. I heard that bird’s cry. You can’t honestly think a birdwatcher with verified five-hundred-species status would mistake that call.” The sound of expelled air whooshed through the phone. “Oh, honey, you took the ferry out to the island and are staring at The Atlantic, aren’t you?”

  Her teeth snapped shut to keep in the automatic curse. “Sometimes I hate that you know me so well.” She dropped her head and her shoulders slumped. “I had to. This morning when I looked at the calendar, I realized my life has been in limbo for an entire year.” With the toe of her canvas shoe, she dug a hole in the sandy dirt amid the sea oats and beach grasses.

  “I know. But tell me…did going there help?”

  “Not a bit, plus now I’ve got a sunburned nose and wind-whipped hair.”

  “Then turn away and don’t look at the inn anymore. You’ve done your penance, and you are a woman forging a new path.” Mitzi’s volume increased. “Tell me what you see.”

  Responding to Mitzi’s commanding tone, Aleen turned from the happy wedding party and faced the twelve-mile wide strip of Atlantic Ocean between where she stood and Rhode Island. If she kept turning to her left, she could spot the easterly tip of Long Island, too. “Well, this late in the season there aren’t many sunbathers. Although today has been a perfect Indian summer day.”

  “Good, you found a positive. Now give me two more.”

  Okay, so mentioning that fact did make her feel a smidge better. “Um, there’s a little group of skinny-legged birds, maybe sandpipers, scouring the dune for bugs. I guess they’re kinda cute.” A faint sound edged into her awareness—a low-powered motor. The breeze kicked up, pulling at her clothes, and she gathered the sides of her swimsuit co
ver-up into a fist.

  “That’s the spirit. What else? I’m not hanging up until you find one more good thing. Remember what the affirmations book said—positive new sights build happy new memories. That’s what you need to have before you can change your attitude.”

  The ping-ping of a moped grew louder and made Aleen turn toward the southbound road. Heading toward her from about fifty feet away was a rental scooter being piloted by a bronze god. “Well, hello gorgeous,” she purred.

  “Who’s gorgeous? What are you seeing?”

  Of course, trying not to be obvious when sighting a hot guy was next to impossible. Aleen had no experience playing coy around men—never had. Guys were either her best buddies, or her absolute downfall. Like, she flat-out drooled. No in-between. “On a moped.”

  “The moped is gorgeous? Huh? Aleen, I need details.”

  “No, the driver.” She took in the scuba suit that had been pulled down to his waist and fluttered behind like a sail. His hair was brown, shot with blond highlights and held in place with a red bandanna tied on pirate-style. His tan indicated he spent lots of time outdoors, and a T-shirt with a faded print of tall-masted ships hugged his muscled chest. “All he needs is a gold loop earring.”

  “You are so totally not making sense. Have you been in the sun too long? Did you forget your hat?”

  Aleen pivoted to follow the guy’s progress, pretending to be watching the cloud formations billowing over Harbor Pond.

  When he drew abreast of her bike, he lifted a hand and called out, “Love your daisies.”

  Daisies? As she gave an absent-minded wave back, realization struck, and Aleen let out a groan. Her first impression on the cute guy was a shot of her bum covered in her least sexy swimsuit.

  But I love everything about you. What? Her body went still. Had she really thought that?

  Then the foghorn sounded, signaling the imminent departure of the ferry from Old Harbor. Aleen stiffened and shot one last glance toward the inn. “Gotta go, Mitzi. Don’t want to miss the ferry.”

  “Hey, you owe me. I won’t forget.”

  Aleen tapped off the phone, dumped it in her purse, and headed toward the docks, huffing to get the bike up to top speed. Not that she was trying to catch up with the guy.

  Yeah, right.

  ****

  Curiosity made Braden toss a glance over his shoulder as he sauntered onto the return ferry to the mainland. Taking a moment, he scanned the crowd as they boarded. Was Daisy Girl a local staying on Block Island, or would she be on this ferry? He hitched his backpack higher and headed upstairs to change and stow his diving gear, a special privilege granted only to the son of the ferry’s senior-ranking captain. Although why anyone with his dad’s sailing history would be content with hour-long rides on the same route, day after day, escaped him.

  Definitely not for me. Too routine.

  He cut left and headed up the stairs to the captain’s deck, ducking inside the small room. “Hey, Dad.”

  A lean, gray-haired man glanced away from the spoked wooden helm and smiled. “Hello, Braden. Find the treasure you’re after?”

  The image of a wind-blown lady holding a bicycle flashed through his head before he snorted and shook it off. What’s with that? Braden stooped to shove the air tanks into a cupboard and grabbed out a pair of cargo shorts and a clean shirt. “Nah, same old reefs and caves. Water was too murky to see much. Winds really kicked up in the last hour.”

  “Yup, I’ve been battling them.” Erwin Williams leaned forward to check a bearing on the instrument panel, then cut his sharp gaze sideways. “And you stayed only at the mouth of the caves, right?”

  My dad, the worrier. “Don’t you know by now I only take calculated risks?” He wiggled the almost-dry scuba suit over his hips and legs before kicking it aside. The choice was always to dare being spotted in the buff, or walking to the other end of the ferry to use the public head. Tossing caution aside, he shoved his hands into the T-shirt sleeves, letting the garment drop over his head. “I’ve got to take a bigger tank, and a dive buddy, to explore that cave in Cormorant Cove.”

  A quick scan outside the room revealed no one approaching from the left. Braden looked to the forward deck and stripped off his Speedo. In the same moment, his gaze connected with that of Daisy Girl’s standing on the side deck. He stilled, feeling inexplicable heat flash in his face. Not like she could see what he was doing from that angle.

  A groan sounded from behind him. “How long do you intend to flash the innocent people of Rhode Island?”

  “Uh, sorry.” With a head shake, Braden pulled on his shorts. As he fastened the button, he leaned close to the window, hoping to catch another sight of the strawberry blonde. “There, now I’m decent.”

  “Well, I’ll agree to you being covered.”

  “You’re a real riot, Dad.” Trying not to be obvious, Braden walked along the back wall of the captain’s room, his gaze searching the milling and seated passengers. She was nowhere in sight.

  “Show me where you dove today.”

  Braden heard the yearning note in his dad’s voice and turned his attention to the maritime topo chart he’d left on a shelf earlier. Since developing high-blood pressure two years earlier, his dad had been forced to quit diving. At least, Braden could let his dad vicariously share in his underwater explorations. He spread out the chart and pointed. “I started at the north end of the cove and worked clockwise to about here.” A finger tapped a spot in the green-blue cove. “From what I’ve read in the family journals, this might be the location of Captain Williams’ hidden plunder.”

  “The journals again?” Erwin chuckled and shook his head. “More likely than the other three spots you’ve already searched?”

  Breathing deep, Braden counseled himself not to be dragged into the same old argument. He’d spent uncounted hours researching the family ancestry, and had traced the Williams lineage back to the pirate Paulsgrave Williams who’d lived on Block Island. No matter that the rest of his family didn’t believe—Braden did. How could he not have pirate blood flowing through his veins? Every time he sailed on the tall-masted ships, he felt like he’d lived and breathed that vagabond life before…three hundred years earlier, in the Golden Age of Piracy. Finding one of the hoards stashed by Paulsgrave’s family would be his proof.

  Braden clapped his dad on the shoulder and forced a genial smile. “Just wait, Dad. I’ll find my treasure.”

  Chapter Two

  From where I kneel on the beach gathering sea kelp, I hear the slap of waves against wood, and I freeze. Through the foggy pre-dawn mists sails a ship with tall masts. Tattered sails flap in the mild breeze, and the small black flag with crossed bones proclaims the ship’s pirate owners. Sitting low in the water, the sloop eases into the inlet, bobbing on the high tide.

  Should I remain quiet and hope to escape detection? Or should I dash back to the manor house and raise an alarm? Before I make my decision, I hear the metallic clunk of an unspooling chain and the loud splash of a heavy object, probably an anchor. Against all reason, I lift my gaze to the upper deck.

  Moonlight bathes the ship with pearly light, showing a dozen shadowy figures at the rails. At the helm stands a commanding figure with legs braced wide apart. An open buccaneer’s shirt exposes his muscled chest and a string of white objects hangs from his neck. The breeze teases wavy strands from his queue that caress his cheeks and neck like a squid’s tentacles.

  Through the span of a single heartbeat, or an entire lifetime, our gazes tangle and warmth spreads through my chest. With a slow movement, I rise. My hands relax and drop stringy clumps to the wet sand. The man with the wavy blond hair moves from the helm, his hands gripping tight to the railing. His features are known and beloved, as if I’ve been waiting for his return.

  HIM.

  Aleen sat bolt upright, breathing in short gasps, her nightshirt clinging to her damp shoulders. Why is that guy in my dream? The bedside clock displayed a time twenty minutes earlier than her alar
m. She lay back with a groan, then flipped her pillow so she could nestle into a cool spot. This was what came of reading historical romances before falling asleep. That must be the explanation.

  As she drifted between dozing and waking, Aleen couldn’t help but think of the dream and how realistic the sensations had been. Normally, she only remembered fragments, like a few blurry slides that flashed for a nanosecond. Never had she dreamt in colors, or at least, not that she remembered. The more she thought about the ship, the clearer the details became. The tall masts, billowy sails, and ports for cannons on a low-slung schooner all pointed to one thing—pirates.

  Inexplicably, she shivered. So totally weird.

  After she’d showered and dressed for her workday, Aleen walked into the small, but efficient, kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the mullioned windows and highlighted the yellow rosebud wallpaper. Beams bounced off the white wainscoting, giving the room a cheery look. She stepped to the corner of the room and pulled the cover from her bird cage. “Morning, Captain. Morning, Tennille.” She made kissy sounds at her pair of parakeets. “How’re my favorite birdies?” With a click, she unhooked the water dispenser and crossed the polished plank floor to the sink.

  The green-and-yellow parakeets fluttered from perch to perch within the antique wrought-iron cage. Happy chirps filled the air. “Gimme kiss.”

  “Hey, I understood that. Congrats, guys, you’re learning.” Moments later, she’d re-attached the water dispenser, poured seed mix into the feeder, and leaned a hip against the counter, waiting for her coffee to finish dripping. Coffeemakers with programmable timers were her Monday morning salvation.

  Her phone trilled with Mitzi’s special tone. “Hey girl, how are you feeling?”

  “As fat as a hippo, that’s how.”

  “Aw, sweetie. Think of the big picture. You’re nurturing new life.”

  “Right.” Mitzi gagged. “And you never called to give me the details when we were interrupted yesterday.”

  Cradling her phone on her shoulder, Aleen poured the fragrant coffee into her mug and added a splash of creamer. “Oh, that.”