Death Lies Between Us (An Angel Falls Book 1) Read online

  “What the…? Aaaaa!” I yell. My question is answered as a large black dog appears around the side of the car, his nails digging into the blacktop and his hind legs scrambling to catch up with his front ones. I watch as the dog makes it safely to the other side of the road. Relief for the mutt slows my pounding heart from feeling like a herd of stampeding bison in my chest to merely wild horses.

  Not one moment later, and I see a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. Instinct takes over and I shriek, “No, noooo!”

  Another dog bolts into the road. Coming from the right, I get a glimpse of brown fur as it disappears under my car.

  “No, no, no!” I panic, yanking the wheel and hitting the brake. My car bucks like a wild bronco and I’m headed straight into the boulder lined ditch.

  I confirm the cliché; your life really does flash before your eyes in moments of peril, but I don’t have time to dwell on the images.

  My front tire catches the edge of the pavement, dipping down onto the gravel berm. I correct by steering sharply to the left. The back end of the car hits something and bounces up like a basketball then back down like an anvil. An uncontrollable “whoa!” escapes me as my stomach hits the top of my throat.

  By some miracle I’m back in my lane. I push the gas pedal and check all my mirrors for other cars, or trucks, so I can see if I’m about to be run over, but there’s no one, only a furry brown dog butt running down the side of the highway — catching up with his buddy, no doubt.

  “Oh mother! Thank you!” Relief floods through me. I was sure one of those bumps had been the poor little doggy. “Stupid ridiculous animal! I nearly killed myself!” I yell out. I’m not really mad at the dog but somehow it helps to scream loud brainless things.

  I turn off the highway at the first intersection I see and then turn again onto a side street. I creep along listening for any unusual sounds, other than my erratic heartbeat, coming from the car. I don’t hear anything noticeable and it seems to be driving the same as always, but I still send out some good vibes that there’s no damage. I make it to work without any further excitement, park in the lot behind the row of small shops, and cut the engine. My hands are frozen to the steering wheel, I realize. I’m afraid if I let go of something solid, I will melt into a wobbling blob.

  After a few more minutes, or maybe an hour, I can’t tell which, I swallow my heart and unpeel my fingers then reach for the door. My legs are warm and heavy. Adrenaline still pulses through them but I manage to step away from the car and close the door.

  I take a few disconnected steps toward the back entrance of Native Naturals and then stop. “Darn.” I forgot my keys.

  Backtracking and feeling foolish I mutter to myself as I retrieve them. “Stupid dogs! I’m done. This makes three and I’m definitely done with accidents.”

  I back out of my car and turn as I stuff the keys into my jeans pocket and walk right into a navy blue chest.

  “Geez Louise! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” I shake my head checking to see if the nuts and bolts holding my head on have rattled loose because I don’t normally walk into people. My next thought is it has to be Nathan and my heart skips a beat. He has a way of showing up when I’m at my worst.

  The voice doesn’t match though, as it says, “Don’t be, I’m not,” and chuckles.

  I take a step back as I look up into the smiling face of Lance De’Lao.

  “Having a dog problem?” he asks.

  He has such a friendly smile I have to smile back at him then I think he’s probably laughing at me, so I quit smiling. “No, not exactly.”

  “Oh? Three, you said, so are you having multiple dog problems?”

  “I almost ran over a dog, that’s all.” It sounds so insignificant compared to it how it felt.

  “Did it piss on your tire? I would try to run over a dog if I caught it urinating on my tire.”

  I see his eyes move to a curvy black Porsche parked nearby.

  “No,” I answer, appalled someone would run over a dog for being a dog, but then I lighten up as I realize he’s just kidding with me. I can see the teasing twinkle in his eyes.

  “You look pale. You sure you’re all right? I could go retrieve the innocent doggy carcass and we could give it a proper burial. That might help you feel better.”

  That made me smile again, and I laugh out loud, releasing some of the tension as much as finding humor in his choice of words. Repeating in my mind what he just said, “You look pale.” “I’m always this pale. And no, there’s no carcass that needs to be retrieved.”

  I notice his perfectly tanned olive skin and I don’t blame him for calling me pale. I am. The sun is bright today; its reflection glares off the hood of my car. I probably look as white as a sheet, or as a ghost. The reminder hits me like a bolt of electricity and makes my arm hairs stand on end.

  Lance doesn’t notice. “Well that’s good. Running around like the gut truck really isn’t my thing. So, I’m glad I ran into you again.”

  I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, both from his, “glad I ran into you again”, and because I don’t know what a gut truck is, but it sounds gross, so I’m not going to ask.

  He leans against my dark blue Saab and crosses one ankle over the other. “Have you talked with Jared today?”

  “Not really. He sleeps late and I have to work.” I cock my head toward the shop.

  “I apologize. I don’t mean to keep you if you need to get to work.” He stands as if he is about to leave.

  I interrupt his sudden departure. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not in a rush. I have a few minutes.”

  He leans back again. “I’m having a get together at the Castle tonight. Mostly Mayhem is playing again and a few of my associates are coming, a lot of friends. You might know some of them. You should come.”

  Is he really asking me to his party? Why would he do that? He barely knows me. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I have to….” I search in desperation for something to say that isn’t a lie. I’m a terrible liar. I can’t tell him Mason the maniac scares the life out of me and I won’t risk any chance of running into him again. “I can’t.” It’s a lame finish but better to put a stop to this sooner than later. I can’t get involved with someone who has a direct bearing on Jared’s future.

  I look down at the navy canvas and the scuffed white rubber of my tennis shoes instead of facing Lance’s reaction.

  His answer doesn’t sound as if he feels shot down. “Too bad. It should be a decent turnout. Have you heard of the band Blue Nouveau? Your brother’s band is opening for them.”

  I’m not sure which is more unattractive, my eyes bugging out of my head, or my mouth hanging open. “They’re playing at your house. Their concert sold out last month in one day. Are they friends of yours?” I ask, trying not to sound impressed, but I am.

  “They were there last night. I guess you missed them but yeah, they’re friends of mine. I signed them with Shrine Records, but their next album will be on Castle’s label.”

  “You’re really tempting me. I love their sketchy moods, and the bass player is impressive.”

  “When I first heard them I knew they’d make it big and so far it’s paid off.”

  “Wow, I wish I could make it but tonight isn’t going to work for me. Sorry.” I apologize again and with sincerity, but I can’t jeopardize anything for Jared. There are too many reasons to stay away from Castle Hill.

  “What if I tell all the ghosts to behave themselves?”

  I watch his face for any sign he’s serious and not joking around and I think there may be a hint of earnestness behind his brown eyes. “It isn’t because of that.” I don’t add it isn’t only because of ghosts. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” The corners of his smiling eyes uncrinkle and he gives me an honest and direct look.

  “Are there any kids staying at your place?” It feels foreign saying your castle. How many people can you say that to? I couldn’t, so I just said “your place.”r />
  “No, I don’t have any kids, or a wife. I’m not even seeing anyone right now.”

  Did he misunderstand me again? I wasn’t asking if he’s a dad. I start to explain myself, “I didn’t mean—,” I say, trying for the correct words. I feel the heat rising to the surface of my skin in embarrassment. I don’t want to give him the impression I’m interested.

  “I know.” Lance interrupts before I can finish. “You meant house guests, right? But I want you to know I’m not with anyone right now. So, to answer your question, no, there are no kids staying with me.”

  I avoid his eyes by pretending to watch a passing car, but now I look at him wanting to see the face that goes with such sincere words. He’s watching my face too, and his intent is clear. He gives me a small shy smile which should melt my heart but doesn’t. He seems like a great guy but I’m not feeling it, and I can’t pretend either. It isn’t in me to force something that’s not there. I wouldn’t want someone pretending to be interested in me. My cheeks grow even warmer as my discomfort increases. I’m also no good at rejecting someone, and what makes it worse is that I like him, but only in a friendly way.

  Being the gentleman he is, he continues talking so I don’t have to. “Did you see a kid or something spooky last night? It doesn’t surprise me if you did. In fact, I’m here to meet up with someone who says he can get rid of unwanted spirits.”

  I look at him in shock and surprise. Does he know about the little boy by the garage?

  He smiles his broad smile which reaches the corners of his eyes making them squint into pie slits and it transforms his face. “I was pretty skeptical at first about all the ghost stories but enough strange things keep happening I’m willing to try anything. My electrician recommended some local shaman and here I am.” He shrugs and looks self-conscious. “He’s supposed to be a real ghost hunter. Sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

  “It might help,” I say.

  “His name is Chris Abeyta. Do you know him? He wants to meet at Native Naturals.”

  “Yeah I know him, not well or anything. He comes to the shop. I think Grandma knows his family. This is where I work.” I point a lazy finger toward the back entrance.

  “You work at Native Naturals?” he asks with interest. “Are you a medicine woman or something?”

  I can’t tell if he’s joking around again so I answer with the boring truth. “My grandmother owns this place. It’s a pretty good job, and she’s waiting for me. I should probably get inside.”

  I look over at the glass door. How long have I been out here? She’s probably been watching me this whole time. Great! Inquisitive grandmother questions when I go in.

  A white Toyota pickup truck turns into the lot and I recognize Chris Abeyta driving.

  “Looks like your ghost hunter is here.” I smile at Lance and add, “Good luck evicting all those lost spirits.”

  “Yeah, right,” he agrees. He lifts his wrist and glances down at a chunky silver watch then over at the truck.

  “See you around.” I move toward the blue-gray building.

  “Juliana?” I look back at his happy face. “If you change your mind, we’ll be up all night.”

  Chapter Ten: Who’s Strange?

  Once inside the shop, I’m bombarded with the pungent scents of all the mingled herbs. It’s not at all unpleasant, but it is potent. The dried herbs, the tinctures, the oils, and the bottles of capsules all have their unique smell but together they combine to form a familiar scent of earthy medicine.

  I wave at Grandma Charlotte who’s behind the front counter.

  “Hello,” she sings.

  “I’ll be right up,” I call back. I turn into the work room and reach for my smock which is hanging on a peg near the door. The room is set up like a cross between a kitchen and a science lab. A large bag of usnea lichen is on the work table in the center of the room. I remind myself of its properties, good for tinctures, and kills gram positive bacteria, such as TB, strep and staph. I do this often, repeating the names of plants and their uses in my head to help me memorize them. Next to the lichen are some fresh cleavers and calendula flowers. Cleavers are for UTI and the calendula makes a good salve, cream, or wash, and can be taken internally — unless you’re pregnant — and is used for burns, bruises, and wounds, and a bunch of other stuff that doesn’t come to mind right now.

  Summer is such a busy time of year for the shop. Not only because the local population around here doubles during the warm months, increasing our foot traffic, but because a majority of the plants are ready for harvest too. I take one more quick look around the room for other projects that need attention and hope the shop won’t be too busy with customers today so I can have some time to sort, wash, cut, sift, measure, and mix in peace and quiet. I finish tying my smock and go out to talk to Grandma.

  “Julie, have you seen the pricing gun?” she says as she rustles around under the counter.

  I lean over her and place a hand on her silver head to stop her from rising up. With my other hand I open the drawer above her and grab the gun. “Here,” I say, holding it out to her and shutting the drawer.

  She unfolds her tall frame and stands, dusting her hands on her skirt. She takes it from me, looking at it as if she just found buried treasure. “Thanks, honey. Did you see all the plants in the back? We’re fit to burst with all the work that needs to be done.”

  Her voice is impossibly sweet, like butter cream, it fits her personality too. She’s the most beautiful and kind person I know — a rare combination.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I answer, as I organize the front counter, making myself comfortable and ready for the next eight hours of work.

  Grandma is dressed casually today. It makes me feel a smidgeon better about my own casual clothes except she still looks a thousand times better than I do. She’s wearing a linen skirt with a boat neck T-shirt and sandals, but the extra touches make her Saturday casual clothes fit for a dinner party. The turquoise and coral necklace matches her bracelet and her every shade of silver hair is tied back into a long thick braid. Not a single hair out of place.

  I had given my hair the full treatment — a quick comb out. All at once, I feel miserably self-conscious. I wonder how hideous I look and I’d been outside talking to Lance De’Lao like this, ugh. He, of course, looked immaculate in his pressed shorts and shirt. He smelled nice too, the same as yesterday, a hint of spice, and clean soap.

  “Do I have a bogie or some food on my face?”

  “What?” I say, startled back into awareness.

  Grandma reaches for a tissue from a nearby box and dabs at her nose while eyeing me with one eyebrow cocked.

  “No, no, you don’t. Sorry.” I must’ve been staring at her.

  “Daydreaming about that boy outside?” she teases.

  “Huh? No. I was staring off into space thinking how beautiful you are and maybe I should put a little more effort into my appearance.”

  “You are beautiful without any of the frills. Count yourself lucky. You don’t need a thing to be absolutely ravishing.”

  I don’t respond. Grandmothers have to say things like that.

  “That boy outside thinks so too. I saw it in the way he was looking at you.”

  Wonderful. Just as I suspected, she had seen us talking. Let the interrogation begin.

  “Who is he?” she asks, with too much innocence in her tone.

  “His name is Lance De’Lao.”

  “He’s sweet on you. He was all lit up when you two were talking. His aura was practically glowing. You don’t like him much though. Why? He’s so handsome and well-dressed; you two would be cute together.”

  Oh nooo, I groan inwardly. I don’t like the direction this is going. “He bought Castle Hill. Did you know anyone was living up there again?” That ought to distract her from the matchmaking.

  “That’s the new owner?” She looks out of the window and I follow her gaze. Lance and Chris are talking next to Chris’s truck. “I knew it was being renovated.”


  She doesn’t sound too thrilled about it, but continues her questioning.

  “He’s so young. Is it his parent’s?”

  “No. I think it’s his. He owns his own record company. It’s called Castle Records. And get this; he’s really interested in Jared’s band.”

  She soaks up what I said like a Venus fly trap, absorbing and digesting with infinitesimal slowness. It distracts her from my dating life, but her next question leaves me just as uneasy.

  “You’re not planning a trip to Castle Hill, are you?” All the animation of her face had moved to her two intent brown eyes. They drill into me like laser guns.

  I look down at the countertop and pick at a scratch on its surface. “No, I’m not going there.” It’s the truth. I just didn’t mention I’d already been there. I look back at her, meeting her steel gaze.

  Her wise eyes are wide and penetrating, looking for cracks in my half-truth.

  I break, partly. “He’s having a party at the castle tonight. He invited me, but I said no. Really, I’m not interested.” I watch to see if she’s satisfied with my answer.

  Her next words are in their normal relaxed sugary tone. “I can tell you don’t have strong feelings for him. I saw your energy field was closed to him, but Juliana, temptation can get the better of anyone. Castle Hill is a sight to see, but it’s not worth it. I suppose there’s nothing I can say that will stop Jared from doing what he wants, but please listen to me.”

  I move to a rack of small brown bottles, trying to find something to keep my hands busy so I don’t have to keep making eye contact with her. She’ll be able to see the upset in me if we continue to talk about Castle Hill. The limp body of the little boy being dragged away is still fresh in my mind’s eye. I grab a cloth and start to dust.

  I can feel her voltage increasing. I expect the usual warnings to come spilling forth, “stay away,” and “it’s haunted,” but she surprises me.