Dark Passing

By Liz Schulte

Mary Nelson’s murder shocked the small town of Jackson. The vibrant, young college student disappeared on her way home. A week later her body was found in the trunk of a burning car. No suspects. No evidence. No case.

Ella Reynolds’ life had finally turned around. With a new book released, the past safely tucked away, and a burgeoning romance, she begins to live again. Then a plea from a woman whose daughter’s murder remains unsolved ignites Ella’s curiosity—and drags her back into the dark world she fought so desperately to escape.

Curiosity turns to obsession as Ella inches closer to the truth—and the murderer begins to claim new victims.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liz Schulte
• Release date: Oct 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301213146

Liz Schulte

Many authors claim to have known their calling from a young age. Liz Schulte, however, didn't always want to be an author. In fact, she had no clue. Liz wanted to be a veterinarian, then she wanted to be a lawyer, then she wanted to be a criminal profiler. In a valiant effort to keep from becoming Walter Mitty, Liz put pen to paper and began writing her first novel. It was at that moment she realized this is what she was meant to do. As a scribe she could be all of those things and so much more.When Liz isn’t writing or on social networks she is inflicting movie quotes and trivia on people, reading, traveling, and hanging out with friends and family. Liz is a Midwest girl through and through, though she would be perfectly happy never having to shovel her driveway again. She has a love for all things spooky, supernatural, and snarky. Her favorite authors range from Edgar Allen Poe to Joseph Heller to Jane Austen to Jim Butcher and everything in between.

Book preview

Chapter One

If I can make it through living in a haunted house with a deranged psychopath, I can make through a date, I muttered, staring at my computer screen.

I was out of excuses. The tan I picked up on my vacation had all but faded, the reconstruction of the house was done, and the book, thanks to being a hot news story, had been fast-tracked to release. Gabriel had the patience of Job. He accepted all of my excuses about why I couldn’t go out with him, but never stopped trying. Finally, his persistence wore me down, despite my fear—not of him, exactly, but of how easy he made it for me to depend on him—and despite the fact it meant leaving the house. We’d arrived at an understanding, it and I.

A knock on the front door made my stomach drop. Yes, the ghostly noises had been on hiatus since the fire, but I still expected them—old habits and all that jazz. I took a deep breath and flipped the four heavy deadbolts, then tugged the door open to find a woman standing on the porch in jeans and a parka. Her wool hat was pulled down over her ears, and dark blonde hair peeked out from underneath.

Can I help you? I asked.

Are you Ella Reynolds, the author?

I froze for a second, scenes from Misery flashing in my head. Good God, please don’t let her be my biggest fan. I frowned and nodded, prepared to slam the door if need be. I fingered the phone in my pocket, ready to speed-dial Gabriel.

I need your help, she said, her voice so low I thought maybe I misheard.

My head shook, but curiosity and her crestfallen face got the better of me. Obviously it wasn’t a flat tire. With what?

Her dull eyes didn’t manage to reach mine. Every word she spoke seemed like an effort. I want you to write her story.

I bit my lip and considered how to respond. She’d clearly lost someone, but why would she think I’d want to write about it? Damn my curiosity. Whose story?

My daughter’s.

Family drama—I wanted nothing to do with it. I began to shut the door. Sorry, I write fiction.

"Dark Corners wasn’t fiction." Desperation thickened the air between us and stayed my hand.

That was different—

Please, just hear me out before you say no. She pleaded. It’s your kind of story, I promise.

My kind of story? Had to be murder, poor woman. I sighed and invited her in. Her sallow, sagging skin, puffy, dark-ringed eyes, and beaten down tone of voice were all too familiar. Just a short while ago I was her.

I opened the screen door and she stepped through, unzipping her coat and tugging off her gloves. Thank you.

I ignored the voice in my head that said this was a bad idea. I already knew I shouldn’t get involved, but anticipation made my heart quicken and life spark inside of me. Even the house seemed to come alive, the air crackling with energy. Maybe it fed on misery. You want coffee?

Do you have anything stronger?

I gave her a sympathetic smile. No, not anymore. The coffee is strong and warm, though. It’ll help. I beckoned her to follow me into the kitchen.

She took a seat at the table, slipping her coat over the back of the chair. I went around the island and pulled two mugs from the cabinet. While pouring the coffee, my eyes drifted to that infamous spot on the wall. Hot liquid scalded my hand and startled me back to what I was doing. I hissed out a breath, cleaned up the mess I made, and brought two steaming cups to the table.

So what happened to your daughter? I asked, sitting down across from her.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. It was in the news a lot in the spring… I waited for her to explain, but she didn’t begin speaking again.

Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I eyed her cautiously, not wanting a hysterical person in my kitchen, but worried if I didn’t prompt her we’d never get to the point. I wasn’t watching a lot television in the spring. Hell, I wasn’t doing a lot of anything in the spring besides sulking and drinking.

She nodded and continued with a cracked voice. She was killed. The police never caught who did it. She was driving home from her boyfriend Bryan’s house, and I was speaking with her on the phone. We lost connection, but that wasn’t unusual. There are a lot of dead zones on the way to my house—I live on a farm.

I cringed at the phrase dead zone and took a big mouthful of coffee, trying to ignore the bad feeling growing in my stomach

After twenty minutes, I began to worry. She should’ve been home. I waited ten more minutes and tried to call her, but when the phone went directly to voicemail, I got in my car and went looking for her. I didn’t see her or her car anywhere between my house and Bryan’s. He confirmed the time she left, so I called the police. She was nineteen. They wouldn’t let me file a missing person’s report for twenty-four hours. Four days later, a farmer found her car on fire in his field ten miles away. Her body was stuffed into the trunk—mutilated so badly she had to be identified by dental records.

I stared at the kitchen wall again. All too easily, I recalled the smell of Danny’s blood and the horror of finding him. I hadn’t thought about this stuff in months. I shook my head, refusing to let it weigh on me. Who did the police suspect?

I don’t know if they ever had a suspect. They talked to me and to Bryan, but neither of us did it. We loved Mary. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wrapped her hands around her mug, but didn’t take a sip.

I don’t know what you think I can do. It’s a very intriguing story, but I don’t write true crime. I wouldn’t even know where to start. My husband’s murder was an exception—it was my life. I knew if anyone could grasp what I meant it would be her. People who had never experienced a life-altering tragedy couldn’t grasp how one single event could define everything else, but it could.

Please. She read all of your books. She was majoring in English and wanted to be a writer like you. I know you can help. If you don’t, her death will be brushed under the rug and her killer will get away. Please, Ms. Reynolds.

I shook my head. I’m sorry—

Don’t let her be forgotten. Even if you just write about her and never investigate, it will drum up interest in the case again. They aren’t even trying anymore. Please.

I couldn’t say no again, not looking at her and listening to her beg a stranger to help. I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to do. Let me think about it. What’s your daughter’s last name? What’s your name? Is there a number where I can reach you?

She introduced herself as Jennifer Nelson and wrote down her phone number, thanking me and crying profusely. I got her a tissue and walked her to the door. I’m not making any promises. I’m only thinking about it, you understand?

Yes. She nodded, but from the hopeful tilt of her lips I had my doubts.

I locked the door behind her. Could I handle immersing myself in another murder investigation? I wasn’t sure. I’d worked through most of my issues and was better now, but that didn’t mean I wanted to test myself. Lost in thought, I went back to the kitchen. The coffee cups were in sink rather than on the table where I left them.

Grant? I asked the still, static-charged air around me.

The room hummed with promise and cooled significantly, but nothing happened. I hoped whatever had awakened in my house with Jennifer’s visit was Grant and not something darker.

Should I take the case? I asked.

A tingling sensation like ice brushing against my arm froze me in place, but a moment later everything was gone and back to normal. I went to my office, shaking my head. One mention of murder and I was already acting like a crazy person again.

Chapter Two

A few hours and many outfit changes later, there was another knock on my door. This one I expected. My mouth went dry and my palms got clammy. It wasn’t like I’d never seen the guy. I may not have agreed to officially go out with Gabriel since I got back, but we’d had dinner together nearly every night when he showed up with takeout. This was different, though. This had expectations, implied romance. I opened the door, trying not to cringe. Gabriel entered, brushing snow off his shoulders.

It’s really coming down, he said. His short dark hair looked freshly trimmed, and his lean face was shaven. His aftershave tickled my nose with its familiar scent. A half smile lifted the edge of his mouth. You look beautiful.

I tried to find something to do with my hands. So it’s snowing? Maybe we should stay in.

Gabriel laughed. You’re not getting out of this that easily. Just breathe, El. There’s no reason to be nervous. He ran his hands down the sleeves of my charcoal-gray dress and looked me straight in the eyes. If you go out more, they’ll get used to seeing you.

Leave it to Gabriel to go right to the heart of the matter. Perhaps I wasn’t as nervous about going out with him as I was about just going out in general. The town of Montgomery was a lot nicer to me now the truth was out, but they still gawked, whispered behind my back. I considered selling and leaving several times a day, but something always held me back. I always convinced myself to wait just one more week. I know you’re right—but that’s not the only thing I’m nervous about, smarty pants.

He continued rubbing his hands up and down my arms in a soothing manner. Surprisingly, I didn’t want to pull away. What else makes you nervous? The weather? I’m an excellent driver.

I laughed, breaking some of the tension surrounding me. This is our first date.

No, it’s not.

Well, our first real date since— My hands fluttered around, indicating the whole house and all the trouble we’d gone through.

He gave me a wry look. True, but that wasn’t from lack of trying.

Everything’s finally good again. I’m happy, you’re happy, the house is happy. I don’t want to do anything to upset the balance. I don’t want things to change.

Gabriel leaned his head back in understanding. Well, we’ll have to work on that because I do want things to change, he said slowly, holding my gaze.

See! One date and you already have expectations.

Gabriel brushed his lips across my forehead. I’ve had expectations for a lot longer than this, and you know that. He took a step back and glanced at his watch. Now stop overthinking and get your coat.

I found my black wool coat in the closet and let Gabriel help me put it on, then wrapped a scarf around my neck and slipped on my gloves.

Careful on the stairs, he said, as he took my hand to help me down. Remind me to salt them later.

Without Gabriel, I wouldn’t be alive right now, and that fact scared me more than any ghost ever could. I wanted us to stay in stasis so he would always be there when I needed him, and he’d never let me down. But there were also times I wanted to grab him and kiss him to see where all of this could go, to see if we could make a life together.

Halfway to the car, I tugged on his hand. He turned to me. I tried to blink the snow out of my eyelashes as I looked up at him for a second. Then I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. His nose was cold against my cheek.

What was that for? he asked, pulling away ever so slightly, his arms around my waist.

Thank you for never giving up on me and for wanting to do things like salt my porch steps.

An easy smile spread across his handsome face. Is that all it takes to get you to kiss me? Hell, you have a leaky faucet? I can fix that too. And in the spring I’ll clean the gutters. And— He continued to list off household chores he’d happily do, until I laughed and kissed him again, warmth spreading through my body despite the icy wind.

You can trust me, you know? I won’t hurt you, he said softly in my ear.

The implied like he did deflated me. I worked hard to move past Danny, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t scarred from the experience. Danny would’ve said he’d never hurt me too, and look how that turned out. I was left to pick up the pieces of my life, alone. I couldn’t go through that again.

We’re going to freeze to death. I gave an exaggerated shiver for effect, hoping for an easy escape from an uncomfortable conversation. Gabriel didn’t look fooled, but he led me the rest of the way to his car.

At the restaurant, our dimly lit table was next to a large window where I could see the snow drifting down from the sky in swirling patterns. We were nearly the only people out in this weather, but the view was lovely. Mesmerized by the white flakes, I was startled when the waitress asked if we were ready to order. I glanced down quickly at the menu, but Gabriel told her we needed another minute.

You’re awfully quiet. He took a casual sip of his water and studied me. Did I completely freak you out?

No—and yes. I was watching the snow, not really thinking about anything, believe it or not.

He looked out the window and watched winter dance through the air. It’s peaceful, isn’t it?

I nodded and finally perused the menu.

Have you thought any more about selling the house?

I decided on the chicken with balsamic glaze and root vegetables before answering. Every day.

But you haven’t listed it.

Not yet. Nor was I going to. For better or worse, that house had become home.

Do you want to stay? Even with all the memories and everything that happened?

It’s been quiet, nothing too weird since I got back. I didn’t feel the need to mention this afternoon, not yet. I still get nervous any time someone’s at the door or the phone rings, but stuff like that I can deal with.

Ella, honestly, just get out of that house and move on with your life. What’s keeping you there?

Men. I smiled at him sweetly, and the waitress came over to take our order. When she left, he cocked an eyebrow and waited for an explanation. Danny loved that stupid house, Grant is still in that stupid house, and there’s you.

Setting aside the fact that you believe Grant is haunting you. How am I keeping you in the house? The poor guy looked genuinely confused.

If I sell, where would I go? I shrugged. Back to the city.

A smile eased across his face. You’re staying to give us a chance.

If you were normal, you wouldn’t want me, and my decision would be a lot less complicated.

I like a challenging woman.

I shook my head. So how was work?

Boring.

They still have you strapped to a desk?

He gave a long-suffering sigh. Yes.

How’s the arm?

It’s getting there. He unconsciously flexed his fingers on the arm. It had taken multiple surgeries to get mobile again. How was your day?

Fine. I had a visitor.

He’d been about to take another drink; the glass paused halfway to his lips. The living, breathing kind?

Gabriel still had issues accepting that ghosts and Grant were real, but at least he didn’t tease me about it endlessly like Danny had. Uh-huh.

Who was it? Is Mr. Sexton bothering you again?

No. He’s staying away. It was a woman who wants me to write a book about her daughter’s murder.

Gabriel’s eyebrows knitted together. She just showed up at your door. His voice was flat, but the glint in his eyes made my stomach jump. Jesus Christ, Ella. This is why you have to leave that damn house. I’m not saying leave Montgomery—I don’t want that—just get a place that’s not so identifiable as yours. You could have fans camping out in your yard or trying to break inside.

I struggled not to roll my eyes. You have greatly overestimated my fame. I took a sip of water. She said her daughter was a fan of mine, but I think she chose me because I’d understand.

Understand what?

What she’s going through. You should’ve seen her. It was like looking at myself in a mirror a year ago. The woman’s at the end of her rope.

What happened to her daughter?

I gave him the rundown of what I knew, which wasn’t much.

He shook his head. I heard about that case. It’s over in Jackson, about 60 miles west of here. It’s certainly strange, but it doesn’t concern you.

I know, but that doesn’t make it any less intriguing.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. You aren’t actually considering this?

I am.

No. He shook his head emphatically. You said yourself you’re in a good place right now. Why risk that, Ms. I-don’t-like-change?

She needs help. If you hadn’t helped me, I’d be dead right now. But you stayed and got me through the hardest time of my life. Maybe I could do the same for her.

It’s not your job to help her. Don’t get caught up in another murder, El.

It was my turn to narrow my eyes. So you only helped me because it was your job.

That was different.

It’s not different. I told her I’d think about it, and I will. I’m going to Jackson tomorrow to see if I can get a copy of the police file. Maybe something will click.

Gabriel stared at the ceiling and took several deep breaths before he looked back at me with a small triumphant smile. You can’t drive.

As if I could be thwarted by such a small insignificant detail. I shrugged. Lloyd will take me.

The taxi driver?

I nodded, not seeing the problem.

You can’t drive around with a 90-year-old cab driver.

He’s 85, tops.

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. I’d like to go on record now. This is a bad idea. I’m not getting involved.

Chapter Three

I was eating cereal and scanning the newspaper the next morning, mentally planning my day. I needed to call Lloyd and see if he would drive me. The snow the night before was relentless, and I had no idea how the roads between Montgomery and Jackson would be. Gabriel’s negative attitude about my potential project didn’t deter me at all. I respected his opinion and knew he was protecting me, but I needed to do this. Mrs. Nelson’s eyes and gaunt face haunted me. If writing this book could help her the way Gabriel had helped me, could I really say no? I bit my lip, as nerves twisted in my stomach. The answer was, yes, I could say no. I had been through enough. I didn’t owe anyone anything.

Shit, I said, and got up to retrieve some antacid.

I’ll just check things out. When I see there’s nothing I can do that the police haven’t already done, I’ll tell Jennifer I’m sorry, but I can’t help her. I nodded to myself. It was a good plan.

Four sharp, official knocks sounded at the front door. I smiled and headed for the entrance. Only one person knocked like that. I snapped the all the locks back, undid the handle lock, and ushered Gabriel inside.

What are you doing here? I asked.

Good morning to you, too. He kissed my cheek and lingered for just a second. He smelled like soap and warmth. Are you still going to Jackson today?

If Lloyd will take me. We walked toward the kitchen.

He shook his head. Lloyd doesn’t have to take you.

My insides warmed and a ridiculously large smile took over my face. Really?

Well, if I can’t talk sense into you, at least I can be there to keep you out of trouble. Besides, it’s worth it just to see you smile like that. Gabriel got himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter next to me. So what do we know?

Only what I told you last night. My hand hovered over a drawer containing my spare set of house keys. I’d intended to do this for a while, but always chickened out. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat.

You didn’t do any more research? he asked. I figured you’d Google the hell out of it. I know I did.

I shook my head, fingers curling around the drawer’s handle. Remember the garbage the so-called ‘news sources’ printed about me? I think it’s best if I draw my own conclusions.

Gabriel sipped his coffee. His intense brown eyes took in everything, lingering on my hand on the drawer. So what’s your plan?

I let go of the drawer. It

Reviews for Dark Passing

[agpadgett · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just discovered Liz Schulte and enjoyed her writing so much! I highly recommend her to anyone who enjoys the paranormal mysteries by Kay Hooper and Barbara Michaels. The Ella Reynolds series starts with the book, Dark Corners. This is the second in the series, but you do not need to read them in order (although it does help to give you some background on some aspects). In Dark Passing, a grieving, desperate mother asks Ella's help to find the person responsible for killing her daughter. The police have given up on the case, although it is not exactly closed. The mother asks Ella's help although Ella is only a writer and not a detective, because of Ella's own experiences resolving her husband's murder.In the new case, a young adult girl is found dead in the trunk of a burning car. There seem to be no leads and Ella dislikes and soon suspects the cop who investigated the girl's death.There are a lot of twists and turns (as usual) with the books in this series. What drew me to it and continues to interest me is Ella. She is so human and sympathetic and drawn very well. She is by no means perfect, but she does her best to overcome her limitations, including her anti-social tendencies, to discover who murdered the unfortunate girl.