Haunted by Death (Liz Baker, Book 4)

By Christie Silvers

Liz Baker always saw herself as a restless bar owner in her small town. She didn't want the white picket fence, two kids, husband, and a dog. Oh, no. Liz wanted more. It didn't matter what, just more.

Now she has more, and it's not as fun as she'd hoped.

Not only does Liz have to deal with monsters, demons, and being a half-vampire daughter to evil, but now her ex-love has announced his speedy wedding to another woman and wants Liz's help. However, Liz steps in to more than just tending bar when she agrees to help out at the reception.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christie Silvers
• Release date: Dec 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781370091881

Christie Silvers

Award-winning internationally published indie author of urban fantasy with a touch of naughtiness. Vampires, werewolves, and witches...oh my!

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Christie Silvers

Haunted by Death

Liz Baker Series: Book 4

First published by Christie Silvers 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Christie Silvers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Christie Silvers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Christie Silvers has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

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Cover art by Kelly Shorten

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Contents

Preface

Acknowledgement

Free Short Story

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Death Howls Twice

Death Howls Twice

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About the Author

Also by Christie Silvers

Preface

There’s death everywhere. Jim’s dead, Adele’s dead, mom has decided to move on, Chad’s still mine, but now he’s talking about the possibility of marriage and babies. Oh, and my neighbor isn’t quite all she appears to be.

And Gregory. Well, Gregory can bite me! Not literally, of course. He’d probably like that. He’s determined I’ll come to his side, but I don’t see that happening short of him beating me upside the head and locking me in a dungeon.

Things can only get better from here.

Right?

Acknowledgement

A big thanks to all of you wonderful readers out there. The world is full of so many books, yet you chose to read mine. Thank you, thank you!

Hugs and love to my Facebook Page Peeps. You guys and gals make my day, especially on Mondays.

Last, thank you to Diana Stanhope for providing the first drink served in this book via my Pick That Drink contest. It’s not a drink I’ll be trying, but it definitely fits perfectly into the story line.

Free Short Story

Before you begin Haunted by Death, check out my Liz Baker short story Death Reflected. This is story 3.5 in the series and is to be read after Killer Intentions. Join my newsletter and download your copy today!

Your free story is waiting!

https://www.christiesilvers.com/lizbaker-bk3-5

One

The rain beat down around us. Dozens of black umbrellas dotted the rolling landscape. The pastor spoke his last words as the coffin slowly lowered into the ground. Tears rolled down my cheeks; I dabbed at them with an already saturated tissue. Chad cleared the lump in his throat and pulled me tighter against his side.

The rain brought with it cooler, fall like temperatures. In the distance, trees surrounding the cemetery had a tinge of the coming season on the tips of their leaves. Fall doesn’t last long in North Georgia and winter would be here before I knew it. A black bird flew high above the tree-line, making wide circles.

I thought it was all quite appropriate for a funeral. The world should weep over the loss of Jim Conrad; the clouds pouring tears down to remind us to hold our dear ones close at a time like this. Love the ones who love us.

Jim’s funeral ended and the black umbrellas quickly dispersed, scattering toward the long line of cars parked beside the grass. The pastor who’d spoken over Jim’s body lingered behind to speak with anyone that felt the need. He came to me, touched my arm, spoke some words I didn’t hear. Chad said something in return, and the man soon went on his way.

Liz, honey, we should go, Chad whispered sweetly in my ear. I blinked with a jerk. We’re going to catch a cold if we stay out here in all this mess. I nodded slightly, and we turned toward where he’d parked his Jeep.

With his arm wrapped snugly around my waist, and balancing an umbrella over both of us, it’s a wonder we made it to the Jeep without falling all over each other. But we did. He helped me into the passenger side before rushing around and jumping in the driver’s seat, throwing the dripping umbrella in the back floorboard in the process.

Chad talked a little on the ride home, but I didn’t hear any of it. It’s not that I was bored, or just being inconsiderate, I just couldn’t do anything except think.

Did Jim go peacefully? Why hadn’t he told us about his ALS? Did he think we’d try to talk him out of his decision to end it on his own terms? Of course, we probably would have, but that’s not the point.

And ultimately the most important question of all had been answered a week earlier by my mother. In that place between sleep and awake, she had whispered a confirmation that Jim was now with her. I only hoped it was really her, and not my wishful thinking. Hopefully, Jim Conrad and my mother were now spending a peaceful and happy afterlife together. If anyone deserved happiness after death, it was those two.

It seemed like the blink of an eye, and we parked in front of my house. When in reality we’d been driving for almost an hour. With Jim’s home and business being in Atlanta, he’d also made his final arrangements there. Our small town of Tremmel Crossing, Georgia, was about an hour north of Atlanta, nestled in a valley with beautiful mountains watching over us like sleeping sentinels.

You ready to go in, honey?

Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I stammered. The pity on Chad’s face was more than I could bear. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to ruin every inch of makeup I’d so carefully applied earlier that morning.

Chad produced a crumpled up tissue from his black dress pants and gently dabbed at the corners of my eyes. Such moments of sweet tenderness from my man. I smiled. Don’t cry anymore, baby. Jim wouldn’t want you to cry for him. I nodded. He was right.

I glanced over at my neighbor’s house. MaryAnne Patterson wasn’t home at the moment, but I knew all too well that she had bigger problems than I did. Maybe I’d stop by later to see if she needed anything. Or not.

We walked up the walkway to the front door of my small house and paused. You ready for this?

I sighed. Yeah, I guess. Let’s just get it over with. Chad nodded and opened the door.

I hadn’t stepped two feet into my house when the questions started flying. Sometimes I hate being a charitable person.

How was it?

Did anything weird happen?

Were there a lot of pretty dresses?

Dresses? Are you insane, Aimee? They went to a funeral! Did you keep an eye open to the perimeter, Chad? Keep a lookout for Gregory’s thugs?

I took a deep breath and pushed past my half-sister—the one who tried to kill me—and our resident werewolf, who was supposed to be at the funeral, but kept watch over my murderous sister instead.

Come on, Liz, tell us what happened, Aimee whined. She may only be two years younger than me, but she acts years younger than that. I blame it on the fact that she never really had a childhood. Her mother ran her from city to city, hiding her from Gregory all her life. Unfortunately, that didn’t help, and our father always knew where she was. And now he knew I had her.

I bet that pisses him off in a horrible, itchy, genital crabs sort of way. That cheery thought brought a smile to my face.

What’s so funny? Monty asked. It was very dangerous for you two to be so far away from home at a time like this. The frown on his lips made deep creases between the ex-military man’s eyes. He’d flown me home from Savannah a few weeks earlier, and it now appeared he was part of my personal assault team. Especially without more backup than just one man can provide.

Just thinking about crabs, Mr. Beagle. Oh, and he’s a werewolf who I now tease unmercifully about being a dog. If he hadn’t gotten so snippy about me not recognizing him in dog form… Well, it’s his own fault, and we’ll leave it at that.

Monty growled, frowning even harder. It had to take a lot of facial muscles to frown that deeply. Aimee snickered, her hand pressed hard enough over her mouth I could see her fingernails turning white. Monty flashed his unhappiness in her direction and she quickly hustled off to the kitchen.

Chad shook his head and tugged at the red and black striped tie around his neck. It was peaceful, Monty. No worries. Nothing unusual.

Unless you count that black bird circling the treetops, I injected.

Tossing the neck tie across the back of the couch, Chad agreed absentmindedly, Yeah, the blackbird. Wait. What?

You saw a blackbird? Monty’s eyes narrowing in on me.

Yeah, why? It was just a bird. I slipped my pumps off my aching feet and stepped down six inches. They were gorgeous, but they sure hurt to wear. And now they were dirty after tromping through a soggy cemetery.

Things are never as they seem, Liz. You should know that by now, Monty grumbled.

It was just a damn bird. I sighed. Why must they always make things harder than they have to be? I just wanted to come home, get out of these wet funeral clothes, and possibly curl up with Chad and watch an old movie.

Aimee shouted from the kitchen about me eating a sandwich. At least with her and Monty here, along with Chad being here most every day, I had someone always trying to feed me. A few months ago, all you would have found in my fridge was Lean Cuisine, Mountain Dew, and maybe spoiled takeout. Now there were actual fruits and vegetables in there. I don’t know who buys it, but there’s always enough to feed my small army.

Ignoring the rest of the chatter, I escaped to my bedroom to change. Stripped naked, I climbed into a steamy shower and washed away the funeral of my friend, lawyer, teacher, and love of my mom’s life.

I hope you two are happy, I whispered. Tears mingled with the hot water rushing down my face.

Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a fuzzy blue robe, I entered the living room to find that not only did I have enough of a full house with Chad, Monty, and Aimee, but now there were two more guests.

My house isn’t big enough for this mess, I grumbled. Not giving two damns that all these people now saw me in my robe. They were in my house, after all.

That’s why it has been suggested that you move to the estate, Ms. Baker, a portly gentleman replied, his hand outstretched and a big smile on his face. Beside him stood the young and bouncy Michael Carson, Monty’s little brother.

I have no interest in leaving Tremmel Crossing. I crossed the room and shook his hand. Mr. Carson, I presume? I waved for him to have a seat on the chair across from the couch. A coffee table separated the two. Aimee rushed out of the kitchen, asking if anyone wanted coffee. No one did. Who knew I even had coffee in the house? Or much less mugs to put it in.

Yes, yes, but you can call me Charles. Mr. Carson is my dad. He chuckled. Both sons rolled their eyes at their father’s dry humor.

Charles Carson was a short, round man. You could see the resemblance in the same dark almond-colored intense eyes his sons have. While Monty keeps his dark hair clipped short in his usual military buzz cut, Michael lets his sandy blonde hair hang in smooth waves to his shoulders. One day I’d have to run my fingers through those locks and see if they’re as soft as they look. I couldn’t tell about the elder Carson’s hair, as his head was as bald as a peeled onion and nearly as shiny.

Charles wore a dark suit jacket and slacks, with the jacket buttoned over his pot-belly, making him appeared bigger than he actually was. It wasn’t until he unbuttoned it to sit that I noticed he carried most of his weight in the middle.

Glancing at Chad, I wondered if he’d end up with an over-expanded middle in the years to come. I smiled at the thought of us with matching middles. His from age and over-consumption; mine from a child of our own.

Shaking myself out of a happy family daydream, I settled onto the couch with Chad beside me. The Carson boys hovered behind us as Charles shuffled through his briefcase and placed a small stack of papers on the coffee table. Does any lawyer ever go somewhere without a stack of papers?

I highly doubted it.

What ya got there, Mr. Carson?

Well, Mr. Langford, these papers pertain to Liz’s part in Mr. Conrad’s will. He bequeathed Ms. Baker some things and asked that I read this part personally to you. He looked at me with a nod. Right here in your home. Though I’ll never understand why you won’t try to enjoy the luxury of your Atlanta estate during this time of grief.

No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Can we just get on with it? I was already getting bored with all of this.

He looked a little taken aback by my abruptness, and ultimately, non-response to his question of my living arrangements. Oh, yes, he coughed. By all means. Michael chuckled behind me.

Now keep in mind, I didn’t really mean to be rude, abrupt, or downright snotty to Mr. Carson. Not really. It just so happened that he came around on a bad day. I was tired. No, not tired. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically exhausted.

How else is a girl supposed to feel when she goes from being a simple small town barkeep to finding out she has a vampire bio dad who wants to control-slash-use her, dozens of half vampire siblings, demons do exist and try to kill her regularly, and somehow she’s stuck smack dab in the middle of the commotion? Oh, and let’s not forget the uncontrollable powers