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EXCERPT:
HAUNTED
CHAPTER
ONE
By: Cathy Pegau
The summer green
of the Willamette Valley blurred as I passed other cars and numerous big
rigs. It was a glorious May day in western Oregon that should have been
more glorious because it was my wedding day. But when I caught Vincent
fondling the florist's assistant in the church vestibule it pretty much
ruined the whole happy, surreal effect.
Geez! Couldn't the
guy wait to be a shit until after the honeymoon?
I smiled grimly,
recalling that the tickets to Barbados were in Vincent's carry-on bag
in the trunk. Maybe I'd go without him. Maybe I'd cash in his ticket and
buy myself a lot of useless things just to remind me how stupid I was.
Or a lot of rum to forget how stupid I was.
Except the tickets
were non-refundable.
Damn! I couldn't
even screw him over this once.
Pressure built and
exploded from my chest in a heaving sob, and suddenly my vision was too
blurred to see the road. Clearing the tears with the heel of my hand and
smearing carefully applied mascara and eye shadow down my cheeks, I managed
to pull off onto the emergency lane without killing myself or some innocent
traveler.
I depressed the
clutch and put the Mustang into first before cutting the throaty V8 engine.
I didn't want to roll into traffic, no matter how distraught I was. Vincent
wasn't worth it, even if I'd convinced myself he was once upon a time.
My head fell forward
onto the faux wood grain steering wheel. The hard plastic felt warm against
my forehead as I huddled there and cried. God! How stupid! How cliché
that my boyfriend was a total jerk and I had believed his lies. Again.
Did I really think
I'd changed him? He'd seemed so sincere the last time I questioned his
faithfulness. His promise that he'd never do anything to hurt me, or us,
was followed by two months of unflagging devotion. Then a marriage proposal.
How could I refuse?
Now I asked myself,
how could I have accepted? Idiot.
I cried harder,
angry at myself for being so gullible, so willing to take him back. This
was one big, horrible soap opera, and I wanted to be written off the show.
"You know,
the emergency lane is for emergencies only."
I didn't bother
looking at the passenger side where the familiar voice came from. I sniffed
and cleared my throat. "I would consider this an emergency, wouldn't
you?"
"Nah,"
she scoffed. "I told you months ago to drop the Vincemeister. But
would you listen? Nooooo."
I turned my head
without raising it off the steering wheel. Sitting in the passenger seat,
arms crossed over a snug brown sweater that contained a bosom more ample
than any woman who didn't earn a living dancing around a pole truly needed,
was my best friend Min-li Goldfelder. Her jet-black hair was cut close
to her head in a pixie, her slightly almondine hazel eyes bright under
thin, arched brows.
"Well, you
didn't, did you?" she asked again.
Min had never been
one for pulling punches, especially when it involved my bad habit of choosing
men who would only cause me grief.
"No,"
I agreed, "but it's a little hard to take advice from you just now."
Her brows shot up
in surprise. "Why?"
I closed my eyes
as fresh tears fell. "Because you're dead, Min."
"I'm dead,
not stupid," she reminded me. "I know when someone's being screwed,
and not in a good way."
I had to give her
that one.
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