Summons From a Stranger

By Debra B. Diaz

Lindsey Sims is a little different from most of her school friends--she dislikes cell phones, doesn't want a boyfriend, and loves to read mysteries. When her parents go on a cruise and leave her with her older sister's best friend, Julie, she gets to accompany Julie in answering a cryptic summons that leads to a gloomy mansion, storms and lights going out, and an attempt at murder that eventually succeeds. Besides that, she becomes an unwitting matchmaker for Julie with a guy she'd just as soon have for herself--if only she were older!
This young adult novel is for all ages, from twelve to those who just wish they were twelve again...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra B. Diaz
• Release date: Feb 6, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452422671

Debra B. Diaz

Debra B. Diaz is the author of the "Woman of Sin" Trilogy, and she has written several novels in the historical and romantic suspense genres. She is retired and enjoys spending time with her family, doing research on Biblical topics, and writing books. Her goal as a writer is to not only entertain, but to challenge and inspire!

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chapter one…

THE SUMMONS

Something was wrong, and I was bursting to ask questions.

Julie’s red Mustang convertible swayed on the road, blasted by a sudden gust of wind. Above it, a dark, perfectly round cloud hovered like a giant mother ship, surrounded by blue sky and trailing wisps of smaller clouds. To the delight of my fawn-colored poodle, the top was down on the convertible and she raced back and forth on the back seat, barking hysterically every time she caught sight of a cow, or some equally foreign creature. We were far outside the city now, and the countryside edging the two-lane highway was full of rolling pastures, thick woods, and kudzu.

I learned about kudzu on a field trip last year to one of the parks in the National Park Service. The ranger had explained how it had been brought from Japan to the United States in the 1800s, and we thought it would be a good way to stop soil erosion. But now it was considered an invasive species, and in this area of the southeast it had spread almost out of control and was choking the life out of the native plants. The trees and utility poles we passed were covered with it, and they looked like some kind of creatures out of Jurassic Park. Well, everybody says I have a wild imagination.

Be quiet, Honey, I said for the umpteenth time, pushing my hair out of my face, and hoping Julie wouldn’t decide to put the top up and make Honey get back in her pet carrier. But Julie looked distracted, hardly even aware of the worsening weather, or my hyperactive poodle.

My parents were on an Alaskan cruise my father had won for a profitable year of selling auto parts. I couldn’t stay with my older sister, Laura, because her government job had sent her to Atlanta for some kind of training course, so Julie had volunteered to let me stay with her. And ever since my parents had dropped me off at Julie’s apartment for the week, I’d noticed that Julie was too quiet. Almost scared.

Of all Laura’s friends, Julie’s my favorite. She’s friendly but not overly so; she doesn’t complain about Honey; she’s a terrific cook, and she lets me stay up until eleven every school night so we can watch old British sit-coms on TV. My friends watch shows about zombies and vampires—but really, when you’ve seen one of those you’ve seen them all.

It was a Friday afternoon in late August, school was out for the weekend, and we were off on a mysterious errand that had something to do with a letter Julie had received last week. All she’d said was that she had to talk to someone, in person, and I didn’t have to come if I didn’t want to. But on second thought, she’d decided I couldn’t stay alone in the apartment in the city, because she didn’t know what time she’d get back. And although I didn’t mind staying alone for a day, I was intrigued by Julie’s obvious state of confusion.

The giant cloud had grown, wiping away all traces of sun and sky. Another blast of wind almost shoved the car off the road. Julie seemed to realize it had grown darker; she switched on the lights and pressed the button to raise the top. I pushed back my hair again as the windows came up and air stopped rushing past my ears. Honey decided she’d had enough excitement and sat down, panting. It got still and quiet in the car.

I decided I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and said, So, are you going to tell me what this is all about, or is it a big, dark secret?

Julie looked in the rear-view mirror and fluffed up her own short, auburn hair. She was pretty without much makeup, her eyes a clear, jade green, her complexion fair with the barest sprinkling of freckles.

It’s not really a secret. I’m just not sure how much I should tell you. It’s kind of an adult thing.

I rolled my eyes. Come on! I’m almost thirteen years old. I watch TV. Believe me, I know all about everything. More than I want to know!

Yes, that’s probably true, Julie answered, with a regretful look. But it’s different when it’s real life.

Well, don’t be afraid of shocking me. Mom records this soap opera to watch at night, and she sometimes lets me watch it with her. I’ve seen it all.

I doubt that. I know your mom, and she wouldn’t let you watch it if it was too bad. But all right—open my purse and take out the letter.

Trying to hide my excitement, I pulled out a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and looked at Julie. Should I read it out loud?

Julie nodded.

The letter had been typed on a letterhead bearing the name of Owen Caldwell, Attorney-at-Law. The shaky, slanting signature seemed to indicate a very old age, or maybe the bad health of the writer. I cleared my throat.

"Dear Miss Evans:

First, allow me to introduce myself. I am Miles Laramore, the husband of Ellen Laramore. I realize this correspondence must come as a surprise to you. I am aware of your mother’s death, or she would have been the one to whom I wrote. I have some matters to discuss with you. I cannot state in this letter what these matters are, but suffice it to say that it is in your best interest to come and see me as soon as possible. Please do not telephone. I shall be expecting you in the next few days.

Sincerely,

M. Laramore

I put the letter back in Julie’s purse. So who is this guy?

Julie took a deep breath. I’ve never met the man before, or any of his family. His late wife, Ellen, was my grandmother.

I don’t get it. If he’s your grandfather, how come you never met him?

He’s not my grandfather. Ellen had a child that—wasn’t his. He sent Ellen away. That child was my mother.

Oh. I thought about that for a minute.

He never forgave her. They already had one child, Philip. Mr. Laramore kept Philip and wouldn’t let my grandmother see him.

Gosh, that’s really sad, Julie.

I thought that when my parents died in the car wreck, I might hear from Mr. Laramore. You know, a card or something. After all, his son was my mother’s half-brother. But they say he was terribly bitter after he threw Ellen out. He wouldn’t divorce her for some reason, but he never let her come back.

How could he keep her from seeing their son?

I don’t know. He’s rich and influential. And my grandmother was so—ashamed, I suppose, and so shattered, that she didn’t fight him.

How about her baby’s father? I asked.

My, you are quick, Lindsey! Nobody ever knew who he was. She never told. He never came forward. She died before I was born, but from everything I’ve heard, she was very much in love with this man. I’m not trying to make excuses for her, but I’ve also heard that her marriage to Mr. Laramore was a marriage of convenience. You know, they did things like that back in the day.

How was it a marriage of convenience?

Well, it was profitable for her and her family because he was so rich, and it was profitable for him because she was beautiful and educated, and knew how to conduct herself in society.

Oh, so they didn’t love each other.

"I don’t know. And I’m not sure how he knew Ellen’s child wasn’t his. Probably they had separate bedrooms or something. I only know that he never forgave her, and she never forgave herself."

Why do you think he wants to see you all of a sudden, after all these years?

Julie shook her head. I have no idea. I did try to call, even though the letter said not to. This British voice said, ‘Laramore residence, may I help you?’ Then I lost my nerve and hung up.

Maybe he wants to leave you something in his will!

Why should he? After all these years of hating my grandmother, and pretending my mother and I didn’t exist!

Well, maybe he’s curious about you. Maybe he’s gotten over it. Whatever happened to his son?

Philip grew up and got married, had two sons, then died in some sort of hunting accident. Actually, the older boy was a stepson. Philip’s wife had been married before, and her first husband had died. Both sons are grown now—I see pictures of them in the business and society sections of the newspaper once in a while.

You know a lot about them.

Yes. I’ve always known about them. I know where they live, although I’ve never driven out there before. I’ve seen pictures of the house. It used to fascinate me—the whole story, the fact that they’re fabulously rich. They live in a completely different world than mine.

Wow. I felt my eyes getting wide. You never even told Laura about this, did you?

I’ve never told anyone. It wasn’t important. I’m a cousin to Philip’s younger son, that’s all. Not related at all to the older one. And, obviously, they’ve never wanted anything to do with me.

Let me get this straight. Your grandmother was Philip’s and your mother’s mother. Miles was his father, but you don’t know who your mother’s father was. So Miles threw your grandmother out, and never had anything to do with your mother or you. And now he’s sending for you to come to his house!

That’s about it.

I looked out the window. We were far out in the country now. The houses were few and far between, with large stretches of pasture; silos towered up into the sky; barns and all kinds of farm machinery covered the hills and flat muddy fields. It was only four o’clock, but it was almost dark.

I never thought about the weather getting so bad, Julie said worriedly. I shouldn’t have come today.

Yes, you should have! I have to go back home day after tomorrow.

Julie had to laugh. You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?

Well, it’s just that—nothing ever happens to me. So I get to be along when it happens to somebody else!

It’s true; I have a satisfying but uneventful life. All my friends are interested in are clothes and music and boys. And cell phones. To me, talking or texting is a bore. The first time one of my friends called me on my cell phone at two in the morning, I’d turned the phone off. Even now I rarely turn it on except when I need to call my parents. I guess the only thing that saves me from being a social reject is that I’m good on the junior high basketball team.

I actually know girls who obsess so much over boys and their social lives that they’re on anti-depressants—in the seventh grade! I wish they knew it was okay to be by yourself sometimes, and read a book, and not have to be talking or texting twenty-four-seven. That it’s okay not to have a boyfriend!

Last year, due to some unwanted matchmaking by some of my friends, I had somehow ended up with a boyfriend for about two weeks. It was humiliating. He’d written me notes, walked me to classes, tried putting his arm around me—he’d about driven me crazy. Pretty soon would come the kissing phase. I finally told him I wasn’t ready for a boyfriend. He didn’t seem heartbroken; in fact, he seemed a little eager to escape what had turned into an uncomfortable situation, since my girlfriends had decided he was all wrong for me and were refusing to speak to him.

I told Jennifer and Kaitlyn and Lacie that I was better