Deadly Intent (Linked Inc. Book 1)
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Authors: Kate Allenton
Deadly
Intent
Kate Allenton
Copyright © 2016 Kate Allenton
All rights reserved.
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Published by Coastal Escape Publishing
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Most people would find it odd walking into their house, after a long day at work, to find a ghost poking his head inside a closed fridge. Quinn Thatcher wasn’t most people.
“Don’t be sliming all over my leftover Chinese noodles, Clarence,” she scolded while tossing her purse and keys onto the bar.
“You’re going to die from clogged arteries. There isnae a vegetable in your house, and as you well know, we donae
ooze slime
like in the movies.”
Quinn knew a lot about ghosts, and she should; it was her job. Yet she couldn’t help aggravating the uppity Scottish Highlander who had decided to haunt her day and night until she listened to his problems. The ghost was slowly learning she was even more stubborn than the leather pants in her closet that refused to budge over her hips. She, too, was unwilling to give that extra inch or three.
“Don’t you have some family members you’d rather haunt?”
“I donae.”
She sighed, left the food voyeur in the kitchen, and went to change her clothes and ditch her bra. The ghost wasn’t going to stop her from getting comfortable in her own home. Returning a few minutes later, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail.
“I can give you the addresses of a few people who deserve a good scare. Have you learned to rattle chains yet?”
His sigh of aggravation made her chuckle. She had this innate ability to bring out the best in everyone. Ghosts were no exception.
“Lass, I’ll leave when you help me.”
If only that were true. Quinn had been duped once by a little old lady who worried about who was going to take care of her ten cats. Never again.
“You shouldn’t have invaded my private space. I might have considered it.”
Quinn grabbed a pint of chunky monkey from the freezer and a spoon before turning on
Gone with the Wind
. The movie worked like ghost repellant; most disappeared before the opening credits.
“You’re gonna make me do this the hard way, aren’t ya, lass?”
“Give me your worst.” Quinn grinned while turning up the TV volume.
“So be it.”
Quinn’s mother had always warned her to be careful what she asked for. She was about to find out exactly which one was more stubborn—the Scottish ghost or southern medium.
****
Rest in Peace
would never be inscribed on her gravestone, like the one she was sitting on top of. Nor would the attendees cry a tear once she kicked the bucket. Her death would never be from natural causes, more like from falling off a table while dancing topless as she belted out the wrong lyrics to her favorite song. It could happen. It almost had.
Both men and women wanted to strangle her for her unusual manner and razor-sharp tongue. One had already tried and failed miserably. The poor shmuck was serving ten in the state pen after a spirit convinced her that the perp was responsible for his early demise. Maybe she shouldn’t have confronted him alone. She wasn’t a cop; she didn’t carry a badge, and she didn’t solve crimes. Her contribution was a little more on the down-low and usually swept under the rug. Police agencies would never admit to using her skills, and she couldn’t blame them. How was she supposed to prove what she saw in her head?
Conversing with the dead was much more entertaining than conversing with the living. It was a gift and a curse, one she acknowledged proudly, like the red tangled curls on her head, which had lost their luster in the choking humidity and eerily strange wind while sitting in the cemetery. Gathering the strands, she pulled them back with the ponytail holder she kept on her wrist for just this purpose, and the occasional infliction of red marks on people she didn’t like.
Her only company lay entombed in a steel casket six feet beneath her feet. Darkness cloaked her in the graveyard; not even the moon was on her side. She wasn’t scared of waiting in the sacred place alone. Just the opposite.
Ghosts didn’t tend to hang around their final resting place, no matter what the living thought. She’d often tell her clients, if they wanted to talk to their deceased loved ones, to save the gas and do it in the comfort of their homes. Chances were good that their relatives were already visiting.
The scent of roses drifted to her nose. Conversation from approaching voices pierced her peace. She didn’t need to turn around to know her sisters had arrived. Their laughter could wake the dead.
“You’re all late,” she called out and hopped down off the cool marble stone, giving her bony butt a break. Steven Simmons would be pleased she was no longer sitting on his face.
“This place is creepy. I don’t know why we can’t meet at the office like normal people,” Becca called out as she approached. She shivered, rubbing her wool-covered arms. It didn’t matter that Becca was a native Floridian, living on the Redneck Riviera where the words ya’ll and drunken spring breakers were as normal as wearing flip-flops all year round in ninety-degree weather. Becca was in dire need of a supersized value meal to help her achieve another layer of fat to keep her warm.
Sometimes Quinn wondered whether Becca was really blood related and not the product of a secret affair between their mother and the butler. She shook her head. Regardless of Becca’s heritage and love for green vegetables, Quinn loved her.
“We get paid for creepy,” she reminded her.
“Tell me again why we’re here,” Quinn’s other sister, Cara, said while peering down at the stone in front of her. Her lips twisted into a frown as she touched the old cracked marble. Quinn’s butt wasn’t responsible for that particular crack. Cara’s ability was different from the rest of family that could see ghosts. One touch of anything personal, or emotionally charged by the dead, and she could see the spirit’s life flash before her eyes. Why anyone would need that ability was a mystery.
Quinn loved her sisters, all four of them, although sometimes they were the reason she enjoyed playing with the dead over the living.
“Where are Harper and Grace?” she asked impatiently, folding her arms over the big red lips printed on her shirt.
Cara yanked her hand to her chest and rubbed her palm. “They’re still out of town working in New Orleans. You’d know that if you actually showed up to our meetings.”
Well, if that news didn’t bite a big donkey butt. Those two officially couldn’t be persuaded by Quinn’s manipulative plan if they weren’t even in town. There would be another time for them. “Clarence finally wore me down but refuses to shimmer out of my life.”
Both of her sisters’ eyes widened, and they remained speechless. Quinn wasn’t surprised by their reaction. It took a lot to break her resolve. She’d ignored him for a solid month.
Last night, he’d breached her personal sanctuary, entering her bathroom during shower karaoke.
Quinn slipped her fingers into her pocket and slid out the reason for his constant badgering. A heart-shaped emerald, the size of her fist, dangled from a sturdy gold chain. The gem remained freezing to the touch, as if it had been hidden in the gallon carton of chunky monkey in her freezer instead of in a metal box buried next to Clarence’s headstone.
“Oh my God.” Cara lifted the heart into her palms. “This is real.”
“As real as my breast,” Quinn proudly announced after hours of research online, not taking Clarence at his word. She should have. It would have saved her time. “It’s an heirloom piece that belongs to the Menzie clan in Scotland.”
Cara yanked back her hand and pointed an accusing finger at the gem. “That thing is cursed. You need to put it back where you found it.”
“And risk Clarence becoming a permanent haunt in my life?” Quinn shook her head vehemently. “No can do, Cara. You must be smoking some good shit, and I’m kind of offended you aren’t sharing, but there is no way in hell that opera-singing wannabe is keeping me up at night for the rest of my life. Have you ever heard a Scottish ghost try opera?” Quinn’s entire body cringed at the memory of last night’s performance. The sound was as loud and annoying as a foghorn mating with a tornado siren.
“Maybe you should listen to her,” Becca suggested.
Bless her heart. She was still so young and naïve. “My research indicated that there are two clans still feuding over this little gem, Becca. Aren’t you the one who cares about world peace and love? I thought for sure that you’d be on my side.”
“We’re not going, and you shouldn’t either. I won’t touch that thing again, and Becca….she isn’t prepared enough to deal with the spirits in Scotland.” Cara slipped her arm around Becca’s as if Quinn was about to play a game of tug of war. The thought had crossed her mind.
Traitors. Quinn should be fuming and seeing red, but she was as proud of her baby sisters showing their claws like a mother bird watching her babies take flight.
“If that’s how you want to be, then fine.” Quinn waved the fortune in her hand. “If there’s any commission, then I’m keeping it, but regardless, this is my one shot to ditch Clarence, so I’m out of here.” She spun in her Converses and stalked away. “And I’m taking one of Daddy’s jets and charging it to the company.” No way in hell would she be tortured in cramped spaces with crying babies or worse. She had hours of sleep to make up for, thanks to Clarence. Get there, give them the jewelry, and then hightail it home and pray that Clarence shimmered from sight.
Chapter 2
A gush of cold air blew up Quinn’s skirt as she exited the plane. It reminded her of the famous picture of Marilyn Monroe, only her legs weren’t as slim and she had a lot more junk in her trunk. Other than that, they were practically twins from the neck down. Quinn rubbed her bare arms, trying to restore blood flow. Her sister’s wool parka wasn’t so funny now.
Johnny Smith, the family pilot, stepped out of the cockpit. His normally tan face was pale and held a tinge of green. Beads of sweat didn’t just dot his brow, they ran down like ice cream in a small child’s hand in the Florida heat.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded seconds before launching his lunch over the stair railing. The white chunks and green liquid made her stomach roll. Chicken and split pea soup. The nice thing to do would have been to rub his back in comfort, but she wasn’t nice. Instead of getting closer, she stepped back and covered her mouth with her hand, trying to ignore the retching sounds. No, no, no, she wasn’t getting sick in some godforsaken foreign town that probably didn’t even have a real doctor.
“I must have had a reaction to the food,” Johnny said, leaning back inside the plane and grabbing a towel for his mouth.
Sure. He had
something
all right.
“You’re my ride home. We need to get you to bed and get you better.” Quinn shivered and took his arm to help him wobble down the stairs and into the private terminal. Her skirt fluttered against her skin, giving the ground crew a free peep of her big white moon and matching-color G-string. Pervs. At least her legs were tan. “You need sleep.”
Not to mention a gallon of mouthwash and a toothbrush.
Outside the empty terminal, an old white-haired man stood in front of the black Town Car holding a cardboard sign with Quinn’s last name scribbled in a child’s handwriting. The fine lines around his mouth showed years of laughter. Warmth and knowledge sparkled in the depth of his blue eyes, the same shade as her favorite faded blue jeans.
“I’d like to check in at the hotel first please and then be taken to the Menzie castle.” She used her best southern charm. Johnny was no help, so she grabbed his bag and hers and helped load them both into the trunk while Johnny slipped inside the car.
“My name’s Angus. I’ll be your driver during your stay.”
Quinn shook his hand. “I’m Quinn Thatcher. It’s nice to meet you.” Her mother would be pleased she hadn’t rolled her eyes and just gotten in the car. Her mom was a true southern belle who had married into old money, but she’d never been one of those stuck-up snobs, like some of her chicken-legged friends. Her mom had taught her girls to be just as pleasing. Quinn’s pleasing side could use some work.
“Aye, what brings you to our fair town?”
“Business.” She smiled politely like her momma had taught her and had been just as vague as dear old dad when mom questioned him about his late-night drunken escapades.
“Where’s the rest of your things?”
“That’s everything. We’re only staying overnight.” Quinn crossed her fingers, hoping what she said was true.
The limo lurched; Johnny’s hand flew to cover his mouth, and Quinn unceremoniously bonked her head against the seat back. Did Scotland even require driver’s licenses?
“Sorry, lass. We donae drive much around these parts. We prefer horses.”
Oh for the love of God. Quinn silently held her tongue, wondering if every passing mile was taking her a decade back in history.
****
Johnny settled into his own room, and Quinn left him with medicine and water before heading to the castle. The emerald sat heavy against her chest as her sister’s words about a curse entered her mind. Angus drove out of the small quaint town, giving her a picturesque view of heather growing freely in a multitude of purple hues over the passing farmlands. Her nose twitched in anticipation of her upcoming allergy attack. No matter how beautiful flowers were, being within ten feet of them started a sneezing fest that would leave her puffy and red for days.
Angus pulled down a long driveway and stopped. The stone castle loomed up into the sky. Construction workers scurried around the scaffolding against the one side of the building. Curse, shmurse. The owner wasn’t hurting.
A ghost dressed in a blue dress stood in one of the towers, looking down. “Uh-uh, I’m not here to deal with you. It’s my day off, lady.”
“Excuse me?” Angus asked.
“Just talking to myself. Ignore me.” Quinn issued her standard answer for the times when she knew she sounded mad. Maybe she was. Regardless, no one had proof…yet.
She slipped out of the car, not waiting for Angus to open her door. His feeble legs looked as though they could use the break. She ducked back inside before shutting the door. “Hopefully, I’ll just be a minute.”
“I’ll wait as long as you need, lass. I’m in no rush to get back to my wife’s long list of chores.”
“Thanks.” Quinn shut the door and drew in a deep breath. Inhaling the nearby ocean air made her feel a little more like home minus the huge jagged cliffs. Returning the stone had been a brilliant idea back in the States. A means to an end to get rid of Clarence, but explaining how she’d found it might take a little finesse. She hoped she’d remembered to pack hers.
Quinn rattled the door knocker to announce her presence. Within seconds, the door flew open and a young maid in full uniform gasped rather loudly and rudely, covering her mouth with her hand. Blood drained from her face, leaving her cheeks as white as her apron.
Maybe Quinn should have checked her hair before getting out of the car. She didn’t normally get that type of reaction. “I’m here to see Laird Menzie.”
“As I live and breathe, I must be dreaming.” The woman gasped again while pinching Quinn’s arm.
“Oww, is that your normal greeting?” Quinn pinched her back for good measure. The sting must have triggered some common sense because it brought a little color to the maid’s cheeks. They flushed a bright red as she rubbed her arms.
“Excuse me, miss. I’m so sorry. I thought you were a ghost.”
Ghost, yes…because everyone could see them. If only that were the case. Quinn might be out of a job, but she’d have a lot more free time. “Sorry to disappoint you. Is the laird around? I really need to speak with him.”
A tight smile slipped onto her lips. “He’s just up the ridge, and he’ll be there most of the day.” She pointed toward the hill. “Would you like me to take a message?”
“No, thank you.” How did one go about leaving a message that she’d found his green rock? Great. Up a ridge. Quinn glanced down at her stilettos. Perfect. “So if I head up that way, I’ll run into him?”
Getting information from this chick was like trying to dig a splinter out from underneath her skin, a sliver of annoyance but necessary.
“Aye, yes, miss. Up the ridge and over the bridge. You cannae miss the lot of them.”
The lot of them.
It sounded as if Quinn would have an audience for her explanation. Could her day get any better? She waved and stepped down the stairs. “I’ll go find him myself.”
“I donae think that’s wise, miss.” Her voice was strained with a mixture of worry and amusement. “He’s likely to have the same reaction.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pinch him too.” Quinn, refusing to be dissuaded from her quest, wiggled her fingers and left the maid standing at the door.
Quinn started the climb up the grassy hill. With each step, her perfect white heels sank further into the brown dirt and her calves screamed in protest.
“I could be on the beach working on my tan,” she grumbled as Clarence appeared at her side. “Nice of you to show. I hope you’re happy and decide to stay.”
The damn ghost had the nerve to disappear again. Jerk. If she ever figured out a way to blast ghosts into the light, her job would be easier. She gave up trying to climb the mountain on her tippy-toes to avoid completely ruining her shoes. She slipped them off her feet and dangled them between her fingers as she walked barefoot the rest of the way to the top. Ridge her butt. A baby Mt. Everest was more like it. Okay, so maybe cheeseburgers weren’t her friend either.
She heard shouting that got louder as she neared the stone bridge. She crossed it to find several grown men and women standing in a circle. Their plaid clothes reminded her of a picnic without food. Two kilted men sat tall on horseback, one on a black stallion and the other white, while clanking their swords together, making her ears ring. One of the horses rose on his hind legs, and the rider lifted the shiny silver sword in the air and waved it around, like Quinn had while trying to get a male stripper’s attention by flashing a twenty-dollar bill. His hooves landed with a thud against the ground, and a ghastly smell permeated the air. Did horses fart? Or maybe it had been the rider. Whoever was responsible, the smell reeked of bad eggs. Quinn stood unsure and stunned as she watched. Taking a tentative step toward the crowd, she held her breath from the smell. Using her shoulders and elbows, she slipped into the surrounding crowd for a better view of the barbaric fight.
“What gives?”
The burly man standing next to her answered without looking in her direction. “The annual reenactment of the Menzie/McDougall battle over the lost emerald. It’s tradition.”
“I bet.” Her lips twitched in amusement. “Which one is Menzie?”
“Menzie is in the green. McDougall is red.”
Menzie’s arm muscles constricted as he swung his sharp sword, clanging it against his opponent’s. A mischievous smile spread across his lips as his eyes twinkled. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, and she silently wondered if he was all brawn and no brains. She should be so lucky.
Quinn stepped into the arena and held up her arms to stop the battle. “Excuse me...”
The swords continued to clink, and her presence went ignored, so she did what any southern woman would do. She slipped her fingers into her mouth and let out a loud whistle that would have made her mother cringe and her father think he’d raised a tomboy.
Both men came to an abrupt stop and turned their horses in her direction. Both had that…who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are glare Quinn seemed to get everywhere she went. She rolled her eyes.
People in the crowd gasped with the same greeting as the maid. As long as they kept their pinchers to themselves, no one would get hurt.
Quinn slipped the emerald from around her neck and tossed it toward the man in the green kilt. “Game over. The mighty emerald has been returned. You can each go back to your castles and have a beer or whatever it is you do to celebrate.” She planned to.
Quinn smiled brightly and spun on her bare feet, ready to walk away. Within seconds, the sound of galloping hooves and the bark of a dog had her spinning around just as a huge ball of white fur leaped from the ground and tackled her. Her body hit the grass with a thump as a pink tongue licked the length of her cheek, covering her in drool and ruining her makeup. Of course, a psychotic dog. She should have known.
“Harness, heel,” a deep-timbered voice boomed with authority from above.
The dog gave her one last lick and climbed off. Crazy mutt. Harness sat on his haunches, staring at Quinn through the white hair that covered his face. His tongue lolled out as he panted, as though waiting to lick her like his favorite lollipop flavor while humping her leg. Quinn’s nose twitched while picking the dog hair off her shirt, trying her best to hold in the sneeze that teased for release. A shiver of annoyance traveled down her spine, in a clutching hold, like the flu that had attacked her pilot.
“Good dog,” she mumbled, getting back to her feet. She swiped at the dirt stains covering her ruined white skirt. These people could keep their motherland. Scotland and Quinn would never get along.
“Who are you?” Menzie asked, hopping down off his extremely large, white horse. A shame. The wind kept his kilt down. It would have answered an age-old question and brought a whole new meaning to the word bareback. She shivered. Becca would have loved this place, and the knight in shining armor this guy portrayed. Pity that Quinn couldn’t have manipulated her to deliver the damn gem.
“I’m nobody, and I’m just leaving.” She grabbed her shoes.
“No, wait.” His voice held more of a demand than a request. She ignored him. There was only one man that she’d
consider
stopping for when he issued a command, and she called him Dad.
“There isn’t enough sinus medicine in all your land to get me to stay,” she called over her shoulder and lifted the heels in her hand as a wave goodbye. “Peace, love, and God save the Queen.” Was that right? Probably not, but it still brought a genuine smile to her lips.
Laughter and voices continued behind her. The quicker she got back to the hotel, the closer she’d be to getting home.
Quinn had just cleared the bridge when the dog appeared by her side. “Go away. Shoo.” She waved her shoes toward him. Her scare tactic bombed, and he rubbed against her leg.
“I’m not here for you,” Quinn yelled out to the ghostly woman watching from her perch in the tower. Sometimes ghosts could be as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and other times just plain mean. No two were ever the same.