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.