44 Book Five

44 Book Five

by

Jools Sinclair

Copyright © 2012 Jools Sinclair

You Come Too Publishing

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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

Praise for
44

*****

A FANTASTIC novel!
44
was just about impossible to put down once I started. From the very beginning, there was an air of mystery that kept me on the edge of my seat… I highly recommend this fantastic novel!

The Caffeinated Diva

*****

Everything from the setting, to the time frame, to the characters, was beautifully developed. This book is truly a gem and I highly recommend it. It literally took my breath away.

Avery’s Book Review

*****

Sinclair sucked me in like a vacuum cleaner sucks up dirt. She brings mystery, love, and friendship to the book and weaves a lovely tale.

Just Another Book Addict

*****

IMPRESSIVE!
44
is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and will take readers by storm. With so much information in such a small book it will impress readers to the detail and depth in so few pages. The conclusion will take your breath away. Don’t miss you chance to check out this amazing story.

The Book Whisperer

*****

Fantastic, edge of your seat thriller. A MUST READ! It twists you about and as soon as you think you have it all figured out, throws you for the final loop with an ending that will break the hardest heart.

Wormhole

For Mom,

This, and a thousand

lemon cake kisses…

44 Book Five

by

Jools Sinclair

PROLOGUE

It was the noise that woke me.

I sat up, confused. I was in a chair, next to an empty bed. The curtains blowing in the wind.

Then I remembered.

She was sick, very sick.

I touched the sheets and glanced in the bathroom.

Where was she?

There it was again, coming from somewhere outside.

I walked to the window and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. And then I saw that someone was out there, near the fence by the flower garden. A black silhouette at the edge of the yard, moving. Something in his hands.

I ran and got the gun.

“Abby?” I whispered as I made my way down the hall.

There was no reply. She wasn’t in the living room watching TV.

I hurried to the kitchen and froze. The sliding glass door was open, the cool air blowing in. My mouth went dry.

“Abby!” I said, trying to contain my fear.

Nothing.

“Let her be okay,” I whispered and walked out to the patio, the gun out in front of me.

I released the safety and scanned the yard.

Just him.

He could be anyone. He could be one of them, coming back for her. I gathered my courage and steadied my hand as I moved toward the dark figure.

His back was to me. He was doing something. He had a shovel in this hands. He was digging.

“Stop!” I yelled, pointing the gun at his head.

He slowly turned around, the porch light catching his face. I gasped and dropped the gun.

She looked at me, her eyes fierce.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said in a dead voice.

I backed away, staring at the ground, at what she had done. All the flowers were dug up and thrown to the side. Where there had been a garden there was now just a large hole in the ground.

“Abby, what are you doing?” I screamed.

She raised the shovel up over her head.

“Digging, Kate,” she said, a smile spreading across her pale face. “I’m digging your grave.”

CHAPTER 1

“I’m not sure how much more I can take,” David said. “This town’s not big enough for both of us.”

He was going on about the director of the current production at 2
^nd
Street Theater. David didn’t get the lead and was given a minor role. He hadn’t taken it well.

“And you know what he says to me? ‘I saw your last performance and I think you might be better suited for musicals.’ Musicals! Child, please. I hate musicals!”

“Bummer,” Ty said.

While I didn’t enjoy seeing David in pain, the timing of his theatrics was spot on. I was hoping it would distract people from what they were putting in their mouths. I had put a lot of effort into the dinner, but it hadn’t come together. The chicken was dry and the gnocchi were rubbery.

“Sorry,” I said when we had finished. “I’ll do better next time.”

We were sitting around the table in the backyard, under the willow with its long, cascading branches swaying gently around us.

“No,” Ty said, reaching over and patting my arm. “It was good. Look, I finished everything on my plate. Really, it wasn’t
that
bad, Abby.”

I wondered if he was just being nice or if I had damaged his taste buds.

“I liked that salad dressing,” David said with a sigh, leaning toward me and dropping his chin firmly on his fists. “It had a nice tart flavor that enhanced the lettuce beautifully.”

“And those little tomatoes you used were something else,” Lyle said.

“Those were Kate’s contribution, fresh from her garden,” I said.

I had been working in the kitchen for hours on my first day off in more than two weeks. I wanted it to be special. I wanted to impress Ty with an excellent home-cooked meal. I slowly drew in the warm evening air, reminding myself that cooking was an art and that this meal had turned out like a child’s stick drawing.

I’m not sure what I had expected. I’d barely been in the kitchen in recent months. Between working as a river guide and at Back Street and playing soccer, I just didn’t have the time. I was rusty and the proof was sitting in my stomach.

“Hey, don’t forget the Chianti. It was amazing,” David said, pouring himself another glass. “Besides, being here with all you special people was super fun.”

I smiled.

“Here, here,” Kate said as she lifted a glass for a toast. Everyone joined in. 

“You’re just lucky I’m not still with Eduardo,” David went on. “I mean, that guy was ruthless when it came to food. One time we were at the Blacksmith and they had overdone his steak by a smidgen and he threw a complete fit. You know what I’m talking about, Ty. He was over at Ten Barrel sometimes.”

“Yeah, I totally remember Eduardo,” Ty said. “Nobody at work is missing him. He used to always complain about everything, but then he always came back for more.”

“Tell me about it,” David said, one eyebrow flying high up on his forehead.

Kate giggled, which sent David into hysterics for the next five minutes, complete with heavy wheezing and coughing.

I was glad he was feeling better.

I glanced back over at Ty. The soft glow of the fading sun was lighting up his face and his eyes were sparkling and clear, making the hairs on my arms stand up.

“Oh, hey,” David said after he recovered. “I heard from Mo last night and the tour’s been extended. She won’t be back now until fall.”

“That’s awesome,” I said.

“Lucky,” Lyle said. “I sure wouldn’t mind roaming around Europe all summer.”

I was glad Lyle had been able to come. He worked with us over at Back Street as a part time barista and was a nature photographer the rest of the time. Some of his photos were displayed at the coffeehouse. His work was nice and peaceful, and lately, seemed to be focused exclusively on trees. They were quiet photos, which is probably why most people passed right by them, and why they didn’t sell.

Besides his passion for photography, I didn’t know much else about Lyle. He’d moved to Bend a few years ago from some small town in the Willamette Valley, and when we were closing together, he liked to play soft indie rock like Iron & Wine or Band of Horses. He was older, in his early 40’s maybe. He wore his hair in a big, frizzy white man afro, and liked to wear flared jeans, like he was stuck in the era he was born in.

He wasn’t a big talker, and when he did talk, he’d say odd things. He seemed to march to the beat of his own drummer, but it seemed like most of us at Back Street did in one way or another. He fit right in.

“I love what you guys have done to the place,” Erin said.

It was good to see her again. She used to work with Kate at
The Bugler
and was staying with us for a few days. It had been a great week so far, especially at night when we all stayed up watching
Chopped
and
Sweet Genius
.

“Seriously, Kate? You built that pond?”

I loved the pond. Kate had put it in a few months ago, with lily pads, frogs, a few fish, and a waterfall. I especially liked to sit by it at night.

“Abby helped,” Kate said.

“No, not much,” I said.

We sat talking and laughing until the sun fell behind the trees. A chill came up.

“So what are we going to do later?” Ty asked.

“I don’t care,” I said. “Anything.”

He smiled.

“How about a long walk?” he said. “Or maybe a movie?”

Even though we saw each other on the river most days, we really didn’t see each other as much as we wanted. Ty was still working at Ten Barrel, and most nights he was either brewing beer or waiting tables. And although I had cut back on my hours at Back Street, I was still working there more than I had planned.

“Yeah, either one sounds good,” I said. “I just need to clean up a little.”

I looked out at the mess of dishes and after insisting that everybody stay seated, I got up and picked up as many as I could as David started in on the director again. Ty followed me to the kitchen with a huge stack of plates.

After we put them on the counter, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, kissing me gently.

“I love you, Abby,” he said, his breath heavy in my ear.

My stomach tightened, like it always did in these moments, the words in my head never making it down to my tongue. I smiled as I looked up into his serious eyes, trying to say something meaningful, trying to express how I felt. 

But like always, I couldn’t.

“Thanks,” I said finally, killing the moment like a Spanish matador.

He smiled a little Charlie Brown smile and let me go.

“I’ll get the rest,” he said, a hint of sadness in his step as he walked back outside.