Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Rue The Day: Sage Wisdom Mysteries, #3
    Rue The Day: Sage Wisdom Mysteries, #3
    Rue The Day: Sage Wisdom Mysteries, #3
    Ebook125 pages1 hour

    Rue The Day: Sage Wisdom Mysteries, #3

    By Juliet MacLeod

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The corpse who died twice.

    While visiting her father's grave, Bryony Taylor stumbles upon the body of a woman left in an unlocked mausoleum in Saxon Lake's local cemetery. Bryony is haunted for days by the oddly tranquil smile frozen on the dead woman's face. Finally she decides she must know more about who this woman was.

    When Bryony digs for more information, however, she makes a startling discovery: Charlotte Stone and her twin brother supposedly died twenty years ago! Now it's up to Bryony to unearth what really happened to Charlotte during that faux family tragedy and who killed her now.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCasa Cielo Press
    Release dateAug 21, 2018
    ISBN9781386440758
    Rue The Day: Sage Wisdom Mysteries, #3
    Author

    Juliet MacLeod

    Juliet MacLeod is a Scottish native currently living in Southern Arizona. She was educated in Edinburgh and New York City, has worked as a web designer and as a magazine staff writer, and is currently employed as the chief dog walker and pooper scooper for His Royal Majesty, Cooper Alexander Border Collie. When not slaving away over a hot keyboard, Juliet enjoys reading, watching films (her favorites are The Princess Bride and PS—I Love You), and listening to music. She has an unhealthy obsession with Benedict Cumberbatch's cheekbones and Jason Statham's smile.

    Read more from Juliet Mac Leod

    Related to Rue The Day

    Titles in the series (4)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Cozy Mysteries For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related categories

    Reviews for Rue The Day

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Rue The Day - Juliet MacLeod

      CHAPTER ONE

      Saxon Lake Memorial Gardens was bleak at this time of year, two weeks before Thanksgiving. The trees lining the main drive through the cemetery were bare, their skeletal branches reaching for the cloud-covered sky a macabre reminder of what lurked beneath the snow-covered grass. Drifts of snow lay in the lee of upright tombstones, obscuring their epitaphs and taking the last remaining vestiges of humanity from the graves’ occupants. Bunches of dried, brittle flowers left behind by previous mourners were forgotten relics of nicer weather when more people visited their loved ones. No wind stirred the empty landscape. Nothing moved. No sounds reached my ears. It felt as though I was the only survivor of some global catastrophe.

      I shuddered, a reaction that was not entirely borne of the cold, and pulled my knee-length woolen coat tighter over my chest. With a forced smile, I tried to slough off lingering feelings of despair and desolation as I looked down at my father’s grave. Remember when I was a little girl and you would tell me that the chills were caused by some goose walking over my grave? I asked. Are you getting the chills, Daddy? Because I certainly feel like a big, silly goose right now.

      I knelt down, the snow melting and seeping through the skirts of both my coat and my dress to freeze my knees. Reaching out with a gloved hand, I wiped away the dirt from the face of Daddy’s stone. My fingers traced the words: Sterling Pierce Taylor. Born July 19, 1945. Died November 8, 2012. Beloved Husband and Father. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.

      I’m glad Mom gave in at last and put those lines on your stone, I said, standing and brushing clinging bits of dead grass and dirty snow from my clothing. That was one of your favorite poems, after all. I placed the small, smooth stone I’d picked up from the side of the cemetery's drive on the top of Daddy’s marker, noting with a smile the handful of other stones already there. I wondered who else was visiting my father on the anniversary of his death. Mom had certainly been there earlier, but maybe some of his friends—Judge Harry Bartlett or even newly-elected Mayor Jakob Jørgensen—had stopped by for a chat.

      I miss you every day, Daddy, I said in a whisper. Pressing a kiss against the fingertips of my right hand, I touched the tombstone again, wishing that it was my father’s warm, flesh-and-blood cheek I was kissing instead of this cold slab of granite. Turning away and heading towards the road where I’d left my car, I fished in my coat pocket and withdrew a crumpled tissue to blot the tears that streaked down my face.

      My heels clicked in a staccato beat once I reached the asphalt surface of the narrow drive, and the sound echoed strangely off the Amsel family mausoleum as I passed it. I stopped and noted with no small amount of curiosity that the doors stood open a bit. The frown on my face deepened, and I moved closer, peering into the inky blackness inside the crypt.

      Hello? I called, gripping my coat closed as a cold breeze kicked up little swirls of snow around my ankles. Mr. Emmett? Hello? I wondered if maybe Mr. Emmett, the graveyard’s caretaker, was doing some maintenance in the mausoleum. I stepped closer to the foreboding granite structure and listened intently. No sound came from beyond the bronze doors. The vault seemed to be empty, occupied only by the bodies—and perhaps the souls—of the dead.

      The empty blackness beckoned. I exhaled, impatient with my groundless fear, and straightened my back. Silly goose, indeed, I muttered as I stepped forward and pushed against the heavy doors. They swung open with ease, their movement accompanied by only a soft grating sound as their hinges rotated. Mr. Emmett certainly did a wonderful job maintaining these massive portals, just as he did keeping the rest of the cemetery in pristine condition. I hoped he was getting paid a handsome amount for his work.

      The interior of the mausoleum was cold and dim, lit only by a pair of small windows placed high on the exterior walls and by the weak sunlight trickling in through the open doors at my back. I stood on the threshold, squinting into the Stygian darkness. There appeared to be two or three steps leading down to the floor of the crypt. I walked down them, a subtle, metallic scent in the air raising gooseflesh on the back of my neck. My lizard brain knew instinctively what my higher functions did not—or would not—recognize until it was staring me in the face.

      A woman lay on her back on the floor between two enormous stone sarcophagi. She was dressed much as I was—a long, woolen coat, heels, a nice dress—but her coat was covered in congealing blood and her expensive Italian shoes were caked in mud. She was beautiful, though her streaked blonde hair was in a disarray and her make-up smeared by dried tears. A thin trickle of blood stained her chin and neck.

      I stood, transfixed by the horror of such a discovery, staring down at the body at my feet. A thin, high-pitched whine escaped my lips, and I turned, tripping up the short steps and bursting into the wan sunlight that lay beyond the mausoleum’s doors. An oily film of terror-induced sweat coated my hands and face, and fear crept up my throat, carrying with it the remains of my breakfast.

      I fell to my knees in the dead grass next to the building, vomiting until my ribs ached and my stomach was empty. I was no stranger to death, certainly not to blood or other bodily fluids, but the woman’s beauty and serene smile juxtaposed with the obvious violence of her death seemed especially gruesome. Or maybe I was just overly sensitive after my time at my father’s graveside. Whatever the cause of my lack of control, I was left weak and shaky once the welling of nausea passed. I closed my eyes and sank to the ground, leaning against the solid granite wall at my back. I swallowed a few times, wishing I’d brought some water with me so I could rinse the bilious taste from my mouth. I had to settle for a stick of gum from my purse.

      After taking a few moments to collect myself, I pulled my cell phone from my coat pocket and dialed the second of my speed dial numbers. I prayed silently while I waited for my call to be answered.

      Dean Jensen, my boyfriend said after four rings.

      Oh, thank God, I said, relief bringing hot tears to my eyes. You have to come now.

      Bryony? Dean sounded alarmed. What’s wrong? Where are you?

      At the cemetery. You have to come. Now.

      Okay, sweetheart. I’m on my way. I could hear sirens through the phone but not in the distance. No shrill, piercing alarms echoed off the mountains that surrounded our little village. He was somewhere beyond our valley. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened? Is it your dad? Has something happened to your father’s grave?

      No. It’s... There’s a body. In the Amsel mausoleum. She’s... I think someone murdered her.

      What? Dean’s voice was definitely alarmed now. Where are you right now? Are you safe?

      There’s no one else here. I’m outside, sitting next to the mausoleum. As I talked, I calmed my racing heart. I didn’t recognize her. I’ve never seen her before.

      Okay. Good. That’s good. I didn’t know if he meant it was good that I didn’t recognize the woman or good that I was safe and calming down a bit. Knowing Dean as I did, it was probably a mixture of both. I’m going to call Doc Hutchins and send him and Leticia to the cemetery, Dean continued. I’m in Idaho Springs, so it’ll be about twenty minutes before I get there. Stay outside the mausoleum, Bryony. Do not go back in there.

      I won’t. I promise.

      I’ll see you soon. He hung up before I could say goodbye.

      I returned the phone to my pocket and leaned my head back against the mausoleum’s wall. I closed my eyes and listened to the silence around me, letting the stillness settle me further. The brief breeze had died down, and no sounds from the town at the base of the hill carried up to my ears. It was peaceful in the cemetery; it was anything but inside my head. I shuddered again and pulled my coat even tighter around me.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Deputy Letitia Nichols arrived five minutes or so after my call with Dean ended. She did not have the lights and sirens of her patrol car going, probably because the victim was beyond need of her

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1
      pFad - Phonifier reborn

      Pfad - The Proxy pFad of © 2024 Garber Painting. All rights reserved.

      Note: This service is not intended for secure transactions such as banking, social media, email, or purchasing. Use at your own risk. We assume no liability whatsoever for broken pages.


      Alternative Proxies:

      Alternative Proxy

      pFad Proxy

      pFad v3 Proxy

      pFad v4 Proxy