When a Lover Calls: A Romantic Suspense Novella (A TURQUOISE BEACH MYSTERY Book 1) Read online

  A TURQUOISE BEACH MYSTERY

  When a Lover Calls

  A Romantic Suspense Novella

  By Jane Preston

  Copyright © 2016 All Rights Reserved

  FORWARD

  “When a Lover Calls,” is meant to be read as a companion book to my new, non-fiction eBook called, “Greening Your Emotions,” my own system of alternative healing, which plays a role in the following plot. Please read the non-fiction book, also available on Amazon.com, for more information on this therapeutic modality.

  In addition, Liberty City is a fictional city in Southern California.

  Finally, I hope you enjoy this reading this new Romantic Suspense eBook, the first of my TURQUOISE BEACH MYSTERIES.

  PROLOGUE

  He knew Maureen Beckley had to die.

  He’d seen her sashaying through the aisles of the local grocery store, her beautiful, luxurious hair on fire with its natural auburn highlights and streaks of golden sun.

  What a beauty.

  But she had to die. Just like the others.

  It was only a matter of time.

  And opportunity.

  Now to get close enough to her so that she trusts me, he thought, and, in the deep, velvety stillness of the early morning, he laughed low and softly.

  It was the kind of laughter women loved.

  The kind of laughter that drove them crazy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Deep in his loving embrace, she felt completely and utterly enthralled, oblivious to her surroundings. The room was dark, illuminated only by a passionate blaze in the large redbrick fireplace. The partially-filled thin-stemmed wineglasses on the coffee table reflected the yellows and oranges of the fire dancing vibrantly before them. But all she knew was his breathing, his momentous heart beat and his ubiquitous presence.

  He was bigger than life. And he was here, with her. The Chardonnay had been flowing unchecked; but, so had their unrestrained love. He told her he couldn’t get enough of her. She understood; there wasn’t a second during the day – or night - that she didn’t think of, and intensely yearn for...him.

  The temperature-raising embrace seemed to go on and on and on, amazingly resistant to the mundane confines of time and space. She willed it to go on forever.

  But there was a practical impediment and it all-too-soon wailed its protest. Without warning, the alarm clock assaulted her ears with all of its obnoxious might, immediately at its full, ear-piercing pitch. Maureen preferred her old-school clock to the alarm on her cellphone in order to, as she told her friends, regulate her "dependency" on technology.

  Writers, she explained, spend most of their days on computers anyway; for some reason, that fact of life didn't sit well with her. She still nursed a daily yen for the archaic comforts, like putting the kettle on to boil instead of microwaving her way to a steaming cup of hot tea. But whatever her means of being jolted awake, here it was: 7:00 a.m. on the dot.

  Time to start another day.

  And, unfortunately, time for the undeniably delicious dream to end.

  “Dang.” She said the solitary word aloud. It didn’t come within a mile of describing the emotions which were racing through her, as she struggled to get to the screaming clock, the one she purposely put on the cherry wood dresser bureau on the opposite side of the room to force herself out of her nice, warm, cozy bed in the early mornings. Not being a natural morning person, this tactic, she had found over the years, was the only way for her to get motivated at the beginning of each new day.

  “Mr. Coffee, here I come,” she called to her long-time trusty appliance, managing to stifle a powerful yawn as she slipped into her white terry cloth robe and shoved her feet into the pink fluffy house shoes waiting at the end of her four-poster antique bed. While another yawn assailed her, Maureen shuffled sleepy-eyed across the wide plank hardwood floors to the adjourning bathroom to start her hot shower.

  Her day had begun.

  She loved her home. But it was also her office. And she had learned from both the pitfalls and successes that came with working at home that she had to set a schedule – and stick to it. Experience had taught her it was all too easy to become comfortable and complacent. And get absolutely nothing done.

  Maureen, her momentous 30th birthday a mere seven months away, had had plenty of useless days like that before she realized she had to stop indulging herself, get serious and buckle down. Thankfully, the more-than-modest success of her work reflected her newfound discipline.

  Her romance novels were selling. And she couldn’t be happier.

  A bonus was her enriched fantasy life; dreams like the one she’d just awakened from this morning kept the fires of her active imagination sufficiently stoked so that another romance novel could be conceived of and written. With enthusiasm.

  Still, Maureen found herself wishing she actually knew the man whose arms she was locked in when her disagreeable clock had shocked her from the alpha to the beta state. Even as she stepped into the hot shower and reached for the subtle, naturally-scented soap, her phantom lover’s embrace lingered in her mind. Washing her petite, lithe body with her favorite large sponge, Maureen contemplated the possibility of working the charming star of this morning’s exquisite dream into a cute-meet in a future novel.

  It was worth a think about it.

  Fifteen minutes later, when she was absently nibbling on her buttered whole wheat toast and taking sips from the hastily-prepared trendy green coffee, Maureen was still reflecting on the intensity of her dreamtime liaison with her nocturnal lover.

  “Maureen," she scolded herself, "this has all the signs of obsession." Then, she shrugged.

  Her dreams, even the intense ones, were usually forgotten in less than 24 hours. Still, there was hope, she thought, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe he'll be back to haunt me again tonight.”

  Recognizing the futility of that happening, she let out a self-conscious giggle and promptly made her way into her bedroom to don a pair of comfy, familiar jeans and a sweat shirt, her usual workday attire.

  Her home office beckoned.

  It was time to get down to business and be a writer.

  ***

  Maureen was only three-quarters of an hour into her work-in-progress, a contemporary, steamily romantic novel set on the tropical shores of Hawaii, when the staccato sounds of the persistent knocking vibrated her kitchen door. Leaning out her office, she recognized the silhouette of her beautiful 20-something neighbor through the short white, gauzy curtains on the kitchen window.

  The divorced younger woman, Leslie, a substitute school teacher and watercolor artist on the side, had been a friend of hers for a little less than five years and she was nearly always in some kind of trouble. Whether it was financial, emotional or physical (like the time she sprained both ankles while vigorously dancing salsa-style with her former Latin lover and was laid up in bed for more than two weeks), Leslie had more than her fair share of mishaps.

  If it weren’t so tragic - the way trouble clung to Leslie like dust to the Pig-Pen character in the Peanuts comic strip - it would be humorous. But Maureen never laughed at her neighbor. She only listened to, and consoled, her.

  However, she sensed Leslie was no dummy; she knew where to find her free therapy.

  Rushing into the kitchen, Maureen threw open the door to her sometime therapist’s office, visibly startling her friend, who, with her clenched fist poised in mid-air, was about to deliver more deafening knocks.

  No one could ever get to the door fast enough
when Leslie had a need.

  “Hi, Honey, are you okay?” Maureen asked soothingly, as the teary-eyed woman unapologetically burst past her into the comfortably-furnished, immaculate kitchen. No salutations were necessary. The two of them had dispensed with the usual pleasantries a long time ago.

  “Am I ever okay?” Leslie shot back. Then, softening her tone, the striking blond glanced guiltily towards Maureen as she collapsed with a heavy sigh into her usual kitchen chair with its gold-and-green patterned cushion. “I’m sorry. I'm in the worst mood.”

  She shook her head dramatically, the tears beginning to spill over from her oyster blue eyes, threatening to wreck her meticulously-applied makeup. One thing about Leslie, no matter what kind of pickle she was in, she always looked perfectly pulled together. Disaster never touched her flawless ivory Cover Girl foundation, at least not for long.

  Maureen quickly recovered from the unexpected intrusion, all thought of work fleeing her mind, and instantly plugged in Mr. Coffee for the second time that morning. His services were much in demand for a certain damsel in distress. She went about fixing Leslie a large mug of coffee with the usual two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of refrigerated creamer while her emotionally-frayed neighbor did all the talking, rapid-fire, spilling her guts as usual.

  “Chase is this beautiful man. But there’s something about him that just isn’t right. Like, he calls me last night and begs me to turn down a sub job at Liberty Junior High today so I can meet him this morning at The Coffee and Tea Shop. He said he had something important to talk to me about. I’ve been seeing him for about two months now, so it had to be about putting a ring on my finger, right? I mean, he keeps telling me how much he loves me, how he can’t live without me – “

  Leslie broke off to grab a Kleenex from its brightly-decorated box on the oak kitchen table, wipe at her tears, mumble something that sounded like 'thanks' for the steaming hot mug of coffee - fixed lovingly to her usual specifications - and take a quick, breathless sip. Maureen sat down quietly at her own seat at the table, completely attentive to her neighbor’s characteristically enthralling, but often highly-entertaining, soliloquy.

  Her own life was boring by comparison.

  “So, what does Mr. Wonderful do? He calls me early this morning, after I’d already cancelled the sub job, a gig I really needed because I’m low on funds, and tells me he can’t see me! Instead, he’s meeting ‘a long-time acquaintance who’s going through a difficult time.’” She audibly gasped as if struggling for air, stabbing the kitchen air with an angry pointed finger. “I’ll tell you who’s going to have a hard time. The next time Lover Boy calls, I’m going to give him a hard time - one he'll never forget!”

  Leslie paused for an instant to take another gulp of hot coffee. Suddenly distracted from her morning woes, she tilted her head to the side and looked at Maureen quizzically. “Hey, what kind of coffee is this? It’s not your usual.” She suspiciously regarded the coffee mug. “I’m not sure I like it.”

  Always blunt and to the point. Maureen wished she could be so straightforward.

  “Oh, I picked it up at my favorite health food store. I’ve been reading about green coffee and wanted to give it a try. Sorry, I should have let you know you were in for a bit of surprise.” Maureen smiled and shrugged.

  “When did you have the chance? I’ve been talking non-stop since storming your kitchen door five minutes ago.” Her eyes still pinned to the offending beverage, Leslie announced, “But, green coffee? Yuk!” She made a face.

  Maureen got up, walked to a nearby stained oak kitchen cabinet door and swung it open. “Sweetie, I have some wonderful teas. How ‘bout green tea, instead of green coffee?”

  “Now, that sounds heavenly!”

  Maureen was relieved to see her neighbor’s lovely face light up.

  Leslie was usually an optimist. When she wasn’t in some kind of trouble.

  Leslie’s distraught monologue again filled the kitchen. “I’m sure his ‘long-time acquaintance who’s going through a difficult time’ is drop-dead gorgeous. You know, of the female kind. As usual, Chase didn’t go into details. Then, he had the nerve to tell me he loves me and will call me later. I could have killed him!” Leslie blew her nose into the tissue, making more embarrassingly loud noises with the whole untidy exercise than would be expected from such a picture-perfect woman.

  Maureen grinned to herself as she went about the loving task of fixing her neighbor a nice, comforting cup of tea. Leslie was certainly a study in contrasts.

  “So you think your man might be seeing another woman?” Maureen knew how to ask good leading questions, to-the-point queries that invariably led to exhaustive, lengthy explanations from her distressed friend, who appeared, at least in those moments, to actually relish living a complicated existence and all the bizarre, real-life stories that went with it.

  It definitely put her front and center in Maureen’s life. Even in the middle of a workday.

  “My man. It’s just the way you put it. I must say, I like the sound of that,” Leslie mused, suddenly lost in her own thoughts, her eyes taking on a faraway twinkle. Yes, indeed, Leslie had a complicated life.

  The green tea was made and, feeling extra protective and maternal, Maureen carefully handed the piping hot cup to her neighbor, knowing in her heart that these breathless true confessions actually helped her friend to relieve her anxiety. As if on cue, Leslie took a quick, noisy sip, then continued with her tireless morning dialogue. She was a reality TV producer’s dream.

  “But, yes, I definitely think he has an interest in this ‘long-time acquaintance.’ And why wouldn’t she be interested in him? He’s a hunk!”

  Maureen kindly countered with empathy and firmness. “Yes, he’s a hunk. That is, until he leaves you high and dry after you cancelled an important teaching assignment.” She lowered her chin a notch and deliberately, but gently, looked her friend straight in the eye. “You know, Leslie, this guy may not be all that good for you.”

  Exasperated, the younger woman rolled her eyes to the ceiling and let out a long, agitated sigh, sinking deeper into her chair. “I know,” she said, then paused. “On the other hand, Chase can be really sweet, attentive and loving. When he wants to be.” She took another thoughtful sip of the soothing liquid, apparently reveling in its subtle, one-of-a-kind flavor.

  Not wanting to interrupt her neighbor’s train of thought, Maureen carefully lowered herself into her chair at the oak kitchen table, which was graced with a shiny copper tea pot filled with violet mums and yellow daisies. She soothingly patted her friend’s hand. “Honey, we all have our good and bad sides. I’m sure Chase can be good to you.” She took a breath. “But this guy may have a darker side than you realize. At the very least, he’s inconsiderate. Today’s event is a shining example of that.”

  She smiled sympathetically. Maureen knew her neighbor was really hooked on this guy. It wasn’t the first time Leslie had become involved with an emotionally unavailable man, but, somehow, she had always managed to extricate herself from the sorry affair.

  Or the man had blessedly opted out.

  But Maureen had a funny feeling in her gut about Leslie’s new involvement. An unwelcome thought tugged at her: This guy may not be that easy to be rid of. As she studied her neighbor’s lovely face with its large expressive, liquid turquoise-blue eyes and slightly upturned nose, she couldn’t help but feel for her. Even though she often stumbled into the most hopeless, craziest love affairs imaginable, Leslie meant well.

  She was good people.

  "I’m worried.” Without realizing it - until she saw her friend’s surprised face - Maureen had spoken the words out loud. Suddenly self-conscious, she glanced down at her coffee cup. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt that out. For some reason, I-I’m just a little more wary about this guy.”

  In answer, the younger woman looked away and slumped further down. Her expertly-manicured fingernails tapped nervously on the side of her tea mug, making the only sound in the ki
tchen. Suddenly, her blue eyes brightened and she sat straight up. “Hey, Maureen, I didn’t show you the absolutely precious necklace Chase gave me a few days ago. Look!”

  With enthusiastic fingers, Leslie pulled out the object she was wearing under her navy blue cotton blouse. It was a beautiful gold heart-shaped locket, set tastefully with a single expensive-looking ruby stone. When Leslie pried it open, Maureen expected to see a picture of her neighbor’s mysterious, elusive man.

  Instead, there was a carefully-etched message inside both sides of the locket which seemed loving at first glance, but strangely ominous: “We are two sides of the same being. You and I. Together. Forever.” It was adorned with an intricate drawing of two doves, their fragile wings outstretched, hovering over the leaping flames of a fire.

  Leslie’s eyes searched Maureen’s face as the slightly-older woman leaned towards her, studying the treasured object of affection.