Ashes to Ashes

By Vanessa Finaughty

When Mathieu Cousteau dies, twenty-seven-year-old Michelle van Wyk is relieved that the man intimidating her can no longer make good on his threats. Her relief is short-lived, however – Mathieu’s soul lives on, and is hell bent on avenging his murder. Michelle’s situation grows direr when Mathieu’s handsome brother, Pierre Dumaine, becomes obsessed with her, and drags her into his world of warped love, murder and treachery, where things aren’t always what they seem.

Michelle soon finds herself on France’s Grand Serre Che ski slopes, where her will – and ability – to survive are put to the test. If Pierre’s love doesn’t kill her, his dubious ‘colleague’, Frédéric, or one of his crime bosses’ other lackeys, just might.

Pitted against harsh weather and Frédéric’s hatred, with merciless gunmen and an angry poltergeist hot on their trail, Michelle fights the ultimate battle for survival. Can they perform the ritual to destroy Mathieu’s soul before he kills them? Will Frédéric give in to his desire to kill her, or will Pierre’s love be the death of her? Only time will tell – something Michelle isn’t sure she has enough of.

“The story grabs you from the first chapter, and takes you on a non-stop ride to the stunning conclusion.” – Merry Muhsman, author of Peddler's Trials.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vanessa Finaughty
• Release date: Oct 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466185531

Vanessa Finaughty

Vanessa grew up in Cape Town, and still lives there with her husband of fifteen years, her baby daughter and plenty of furry, four-legged ‘children’. Her passion for the written word started her career as an editor and copywriter, and she part-ran a writers’ critique group for close on seven years. She's been writing ever since she learnt how, has always been an avid reader, and currently lives on coffee and cigarettes. Her interests include reading, photography, the supernatural, life's mysteries and martial arts, of which she has five years’ experience. Review copies of all Vanessa's books are available upon request, and fans are welcome to email her at [e-mail] - she loves to hear any type of feedback and answers all emails personally. *** Please note that Vanessa uses UK spelling and grammar, which is not always the same as US spelling and grammar.

Book preview

ASHES TO ASHES

Lust to dust

Vanessa Finaughty

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Vanessa Finaughty

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Second Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover picture: by author

In memory of Raymond Paulus

(3 July 1980 – 27 August 2006)

For your friendship, support, and being a kindred spirit. Your support has always remained with me, and you would have loved the end of this novel even more than I do. You are an irreplaceable friend-come-muse.

Chapter 1

The widow wept quietly in the front row. A hazy blue light, cast by the stained-glass windows that reached nearly to the ceiling, added an eerie atmosphere to the late afternoon memorial service. The priest’s lips moved and his deep voice droned, but twenty-seven-year-old Michelle’s brain didn’t register his words. Her mind was almost completely focussed on the fact that she was finally safe from Mathieu Cousteau. She wondered briefly how many were there for the same reason she was – to allow the relief of his death to sink in properly.

Mathieu’s ashes were displayed at the front of the vast cathedral in a coffin-shaped wooden chest, standing upright on a base about the size of her hand. Like a bonsai Dracula’s coffin. Michelle swallowed the unexpected giggle that bubbled in her throat at the thought. She sat near the middle of the room in an aisle seat, the pews behind her empty. The cathedral could seat a few thousand, she estimated. From her seat, Michelle was barely able to see the chest, but was reassured that there was no longer any chance Mathieu would make good on his threats. Her thoughts drifted back to her first encounter with him, which seemed a lifetime ago, but was, in reality, a mere three weeks earlier.

You’ve been asking questions about me. And now your superiors at Xitia A&M ask those same questions! Mathieu growled, pointing a long, bony finger at her.

So what? Michelle snapped.

I will not be ruined by a little girl with high morals who knows nothing of the real world.

And I will not be a part of your sick, twisted games!

"You will do your job. You will keep your mouth shut. You will not speak of what you think you know."

Michelle shuddered, brought back to reality as those at the memorial rose to their feet to sing a hymn. She dutifully rose, too, but remained tight-lipped. The hymn was one about the deceased’s soul resting in peace, and Michelle fervently hoped that Mathieu burnt in Hell. Her thoughts returned to that fateful encounter.

Oh, don’t worry. I don’t plan on going public with what I’ve discovered about you, Mathieu. But only because I don’t want to lose my job. I want nothing to do with you, though. I’ve already handed your account over to a colleague.

"Your refusal to write my ad will create questions in your bosses’ minds. You will take the job back. You will write the ad that I have asked of your company!"

I won’t. She folded her arms.

You will be sorry.

I already am. Sorry that I ever heard about you.

A chill crept up her spine as Mathieu murmured, Such a pretty face. Such lovely bone structure. The skin would do nicely as a pillowcase. And the skull… would make a beautiful ashtray.

Mathieu reached out as if to touch her face, then winked at her when she flinched, dropped his hand and turned to walk away.

The mourners began another song, but Michelle still refused to join in. Instead, she wondered if she would have been half as afraid of Mathieu as she had been, had she not been living alone in a foreign country. She raised her head and gazed at the one hundred and fifteen foot high, arched ceiling, trying to shake the feeling of impending doom that had come over her. For some odd reason, the ceiling, along with the Gothic look of the chapel, made her think of the long-dead painter, Michelangelo. To the best of her limited knowledge of history, though, the artist had never set foot in this particular church. In fact, she knew nothing whatsoever about the artist, other than that she was pretty sure he was Italian. These were stupid, meaningless thoughts to run through her mind at a time like this, but anything was better than the unsettling memories.

Those around her sat again, and Michelle breathed a sigh of relief – surely that meant the already hour-long service was drawing to an end. She frowned when the priest continued with a sermon that seemed to be only halfway through. Michelle fidgeted, knowing there was no way she would be able to sit through another hour, or even another ten minutes, of hearing about how wonderful Mathieu had been. She was about to get up and sneak out when the priest called upon members of Mathieu’s family to say a few words about him. This piqued her interest – she had been wondering ever since his death what his relatives really thought of him. She settled back on the hard pew and folded her arms again.

A tall, cadaverous man stepped up from the front row and cleared his throat. Mathieu was a kind, gentle and caring man. He fought for those unable to fight for themselves, no matter what the cost to himself. He paused to allow a sudden coughing fit from another man near the front to pass, then continued, glaring at the culprit, He was a good father and a loving husband. We will miss him dearly.

The more the man sang Mathieu’s praises, the more nauseated Michelle grew. A second person went up to speak; an elderly woman who required the assistance of a younger man to help her from her seat. This woman, too, said only good things about Mathieu. Sickened, Michelle reached for her handbag and stood quietly, making a beeline for the back of the cathedral, and earning herself a stern glance from an older man across the aisle. Out in the foyer, she took a deep breath. How could his family not know what he was? Or did they know, and not care? Or were they part of it? Perhaps they were simply doing what many did when someone died – pretending to have liked the deceased, out of some silly, superstitious notion that speaking badly of the dead would bring bad luck. Disgusted and disappointed, she headed for the exit.

The clinking of wine glasses in one of the rooms that led off the foyer caught Michelle’s attention – various wines and cheeses were laid out on trestle tables, presumably for after the memorial. What the hell – she hadn’t eaten yet, so why shouldn’t she have a free meal, courtesy of Mathieu Cousteau? Although… What to do while she waited for the service to end? The bell tower. From the top, there would be a magnificent view of Paris.

Michelle studied the map in the foyer, then made for the stairs leading to the bell tower. She kept a loose grip on the metal handrail as she ascended, trying to ignore the thick, orange-coloured, sticky grime that rubbed off on her hands. She mused, unimpressed, that a major tourist attraction like the cathedral should be better maintained. About halfway up, she regretted the urge to head to the tower – if she recalled correctly, there were at least three hundred and eighty-odd stairs leading to the top, and her side already ached. Once more, she thought about her conversation with Mathieu.

I’m curious. What made you investigate me?

The information you wanted in your ads. It seemed off, as if there was a hidden message there that I couldn’t quite figure out. I can’t explain it. It was just a feeling.

And you usually refuse to do the job you’re paid to do because of ‘feelings’? Mathieu raised his eyebrows.

I don’t usually have ‘feelings’.

Interesting. Mathieu appeared to be considering something.

Michelle glared. Stay away from me, or I’ll lay a charge of harassment against you.

At that, Mathieu laughed, his eyes glinting dangerously, and the contemplative look left his face. I’ve worked hard to get to the point I’m at now. Stay out of my business, Michelle. A lot of innocent people will get hurt if you don’t.

Michelle reached the top of the stairs and leant against the wall, crossing her arms over her stomach in a futile attempt to be rid of the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her at the memories. Her best friend since she had moved to France, Angelique, had said the memories would fade with time, but Michelle had hoped to be free of the nightmare now that Mathieu was dead. She drew a ragged breath as more memories came flooding back.

I don’t believe in curses. You can threaten all you want, but you’ll never be able to follow through on those threats.

Don’t be so sure of that, my lovely.

Michelle drew her jacket tighter around herself, as if the action would prevent Mathieu from undressing her with his eyes, which she was certain was exactly what he was doing.

Stay away from me. She turned to walk away.

One thing before you go. Mathieu placed a cold hand on her arm. There are far worse things than death. He leered.

Michelle took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and reminded herself that Mathieu was dead. Nobody was coming to hurt her. Nobody cared anymore, now that he was gone. Still breathing heavily, she stepped over to a small, arched window, and gazed out over the city. The Eiffel Tower stood out in the distance against the early evening sky, and, closer, the river was flat and still beneath the stars. As beautiful as the view of Paris from this height was, Michelle didn’t want to be alone. What if she was wrong and it wasn’t over yet? Would anyone hear her if she screamed? Probably not. She reprimanded herself – she had no reason to scream; Mathieu was dead. She was safe.

Even so, Michelle descended the steep stairs, and reached the bottom in nearly half the time it had taken her to get to the top. Without thinking, she wiped her hands on her trousers. The muck from the hand railing stuck to her hands, but what little had come off was barely noticeable on her black slacks. She went in search of a bathroom. Eventually finding one, she tried to wash the grime from her hands. A good while later, after much scrubbing, and feeling decidedly cleaner, Michelle headed back to the main foyer – the service should be over by now, and she was keen to get stuck into the wine and cheese.

After a few minutes of wandering through the wide corridors, Michelle realised that she was hopelessly lost. Before she could panic, however, she spotted a set of doors that led into a small chapel. Entering, she saw that the smaller area was tucked away behind the pulpit of the main chapel in which Mathieu’s service had been held. Thankfully, the service was over and only a few people milled about. Michelle stifled a giggle as she imagined the look on the aged priest’s face if she had barged in behind him.

Michelle moved towards the open doors at the other side of the main chapel, and entered the area where the snacks were being served. At the entrance, someone handed her a glass of white wine. Not wanting to be rude, she accepted it with a smile and wandered further into the room before bringing it to her lips. Condrieu, she guessed when she tasted it. A typical, full-bodied white wine, with a strong, distinctive taste of apricot. She tried not to gag. She would have preferred red wine, but what the hell; Mathieu’s money was probably paying for it, so she would drink it.

Michelle drank the first glass quickly and found another without delay, while eyeing the cheeses. Not that many choices: Chaource dices, a slightly acidic cheese, which went best with port or champagne – although Michelle saw neither drink available – and Abondance, which should be served hot, but was lukewarm already. Michelle decided not to eat anything after all, but spent the better part of the next hour standing in a corner, sipping wine, observing the family, and wondering why on earth she had asked questions about Mathieu in the first place. Sure, he had been a cruel man who hurt people – children, no less – but was that really her problem? Of course, after enquiring about him and his activities, it had become her problem.

A sharp, nasal voice cut through Michelle’s thoughts. And where is Pierre?

Michelle turned to find a middle-aged woman glaring at Mathieu’s widow, a strangely pleasant shiver running down her spine at the sound of the stranger’s name. Pierre.

He had things to attend to. He’ll be here soon.

"Soon? It’s a bit late now, isn’t it? The service is over. I don’t know why he’d bother now."

So, perhaps this Pierre was also glad Mathieu was dead. Glad or didn’t care. Michelle realised she was grinning at the thought when the sharp-nosed woman turned and scowled at her.

He’s a busy man. You know as well as I do that, despite the arguments, he loved Mathieu very much. Family is important to Pierre, was the annoyed reply from Mathieu’s widow.

Michelle lowered her eyes, gulped down the rest of her wine, and hastened on unsteady legs to find the bathroom again. Many wrong turns later, she found it, and took her time freshening up. She felt drunker than she’d been in a long time, and tried to remember how many glasses of the horrible wine she had consumed, but was unable to count further than three.

Briefly, she considered that perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to be so gleeful over another’s demise, even if they had been someone who deliberately hurt others. What if, somehow, her joy over Mathieu’s death came back to her in a bad way? Karma could be a bitch. Besides that, she wasn’t ordinarily a bad person, and was beginning to feel vaguely guilty for being happy that he was dead.

Yet again, her thoughts drifted to that conversation.

What are you doing in my office? I told you to stay away from me.

I heard you weren’t the one to write my ad. Mathieu’s cold blue eyes held Michelle’s glaring green ones captive.

What’s your point? Michelle held the tall man’s gaze, refusing to admit, even to herself, how deathly afraid she was.

You’ve also been asking more questions about me. Why do that if you really want to be left alone? He leant over her desk.

Get out! She rose to her feet, unable to hide her fear and anger any longer.

You have three weeks to enjoy your face. Then it’s mine. Unless, of course, you back off.

Reviews for Ashes to Ashes

[ikest_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Kooky mind game mystery with ultra rich family.OK