Hurrikaine (Part 2): Affairs of the Heart - Briarwood Series

By Kew Townsend

HURRIKAINE

A decaying English castle…

Questions surrounding the mysteries of ancestry, criminal motives, a growing suspect list, and the curious history of Hurrikaine, are piling up for weary traveler Holly Hill. To add to her worries, fiancé Kaine Walker, rock star, suffers from loss of memory. She aides Kaine's exhaustive quest in medieval Briarwood Castle that possesses the crucial and long-forgotten secrets buried deep down in the eerie, subterranean archive.

A killer locked behind darkness…

Luka Hunter lays in a coma after suffering a failed murder attempt. He carries the key testimony to who shot him.

A cryptic nightmare ­­… that could destroy everything!

Kaine searches for precious memories preserved in the old scrapbooks, documenting the obsession, betrayal, and revenge of Hurrikaine's scandalous and meteoritic rise to fame and riches. He hopes to discover the chilling answer to the frightening, dark terror and explain the Ghost of Briarwood.

He lived in the fast lane of rock music… but at what cost?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kew Townsend
• Release date: Jun 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781539560456

Book preview

Chapter One

FROM THE BEGINNING

January 4, 1990

Briarwood Castle,

Briarwood Estate,

Surrey County, England

Kaine Walker hovered on the edge of his past.

Jeffries, his friend, and confidant, pulled open a small drawer located in a massive desk. After some trouble, he eventually opens it and dug under a few papers.

Your Grace, please, permit me to make a suggestion. I think you need to start your search with this.

He handed Kaine a small, edge worn book.

Kaine opened the cover to discover it was a diary. Within a few seconds, tears popped in his eyes. They were there so quickly he wasn't able to stop them.

Holly, his sweet financee, rushed to his side and read on with him.

They gazed at each other, as he wiped away a tear. He motioned to her.

Here, sit with me, I'll read aloud to you.

Kaine adjusted himself on the worn leather chaise first and then invited her between his legs to lean on him. He held the hand-sized diary in front of her.

Holly closed her eyes as she listened to his rhythmic breathing, reading aloud, as he started the journey back to the beginning.

July 7, 1957

My dear sweet baby, I am keeping these notes so I don't go out of my mind with fear. I am caught in the middle of a plot so sinister I couldn’t have made this up in my scariest nightmare. Nothing I have ever seen or done could have prepared me for taking off with father's Sunday offerings to run and hide, so the men in the dark suits couldn’t steal you away from me.

I’m sitting behind a small grocery nibbling on fruit to keep up my strength because I fear you may arrive any moment. I am waiting for the bus to appear to sneak on once again and head for safety, which means as far away from Coffeyville, Kansas, my birthplace, but no longer my home.

I haven't slept since I learned the horrible truth that I must reveal to you. For anyone else would surely commit me to an insane asylum than listen to my twisted story. They would surely be convinced I suffer from the paranoia of the worst kind. I swear by the God my father has preached about every Sunday of my life, what I am about to write ... is true.

It all started when mother died giving birth to me, father never seemed to get over it, and his faith as a preacher of the word of God never gave him any solace. Instead, I became a mother. I cooked, cleaned, and sang in the choir on Sundays, and excelled at school. My father was not a cruel man, but he was cold and distant, and I've never remembered a kiss or a hug, much less a thank you, in all the years I cared for him. As I grew up, the hand of the Lord was on me.

This will sound immodest and certainly a sin of vanity. I mention it as it’s of importance to what happened later.

My beauty was brought up by the boys my age, and father wanted me to cover up my womanly attractiveness.

One Sunday a handsome stranger arrived from Wichita. He was finely dressed, and he stopped into father's worn-out, paint-chipped church. I sang my usual solos and after the service, this man approached father and asked to take me with him, to sing at a gathering in a fancy hotel in the city.

Father was hesitant since I’d recently turned eighteen, was naïve and never been ten miles in any direction from home. But the gentleman was persuasive, promising to paint the church and repair the pews. Father prayed on it a few minutes to make it look good, and with bluster, then acting as if he gave in to God's Will, sent me along with this strange man.

Edward was this man's name, Edward Dunnehill. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen, even on the picture screen. His cologne made me swoon every time he came close to me. I felt ugly and awkward being sheltered from the ways of the world, and I was flattered every time he paid me the tiniest compliment.

Edward, at twenty-three, was tall, six feet, with the bluest eyes, and dark straight hair. His pale white skin was iridescent in the sun and I was transfixed whenever he came into view. His voice was silky smooth, and the poised and polished way he spoke with his English accent, sent me into shivers. And the way he spoke my name, Angelica, always sounded beautiful, better than my name ever sounded.

Edward drove us to Wichita over the flat uninterrupted landscape and all I could do was stare at him as if hypnotized. He had the most wonderful stories about the English countryside, and I dreamed of one day being there to see what he had described. The lush rolling hills and quaint cottages covered with ivy and thatched roofs sounded idyllic.

Edward was a horse breeder and came to Kansas to trade. He planned to throw a lavish affair to woo the local breeders, and I was to be his singer, the star of the show.

There's nothing to be nervous about, he’d assured, these are strangers. All they know is that they are in the presence of a singing angel. I'll be there and I promise nothing will happen to you. You're safe with me.

But that wasn’t the problem. I confessed, Edward, it's not that I'm nervous about the people, it's disappointing you.

I can see his piercing, but gentle blue eyes, eyes so blue the sky would be embarrassed, looking into mine and encouraging me.

We eventually pulled up to the best hotel in Wichita. I wandered in feeling like a princess invited to the elegant ball. Even when I learned there was one room, I never balked. I simply didn't understand.

Edward's grand luggage was taken ahead of us and I carried my worn satchel.

Edward looked down and offered, Angelica, let me take care of that.

He walked over to a huge trash can and heaved the torn brown satchel.

Edward, please it has all my things.

I was horrified, what would I do now?

Angelica, please, let me take care of you, let me buy you clothes to match your beauty ... that is indeed if they’ve been made.

Of course, I was heady from his words, no one had paid attention to me, other than the farm boys and they were always grabbing at my too tight, hand-me-down dresses because Father couldn't afford new dresses from the meager collection plate.

Edward took me to the grandest shop. At first, I was too embarrassed to enter. The fine women were giving us the eye to be sure. I felt somehow dirty and believed I didn't belong there.

But handsome Edward charmed all the women with his good looks and told the sales girls in no uncertain terms, what he wanted, and now. Then something caught his eye, a red silk robe with ruffles down the front. He picked it up and laid it on the counter to be included in the purchase. It was gorgeous.

Well, you should have seen them scurrying about to please Edward. All it took was a moment's glance into his charming blue eyes and any woman was putty in his hands. As I must confess, was I by this point, helplessly, lost in love with him. He'd sent me to the beauty parlor with instructions to blunt cut my waist-long blonde hair to my shoulders.

That first night, we sat in the fancy hotel dining room, my crude upbringing was clear. But Edward patiently showed me, step-by-step, how to use the tableware. I mimicked each of his movements until I understood what was expected, and by the end of dinner, felt sure I hadn’t embarrassed him.

Dressed in a black and white, three-piece, wool suit, popular in the fashion scene, I was impressed with my own image in the elegant bathroom mirror. No longer was I the ugly bumpkin', but I looked as nice as Beverly Parker, the richest girl in Coffeyville. If she could have seen me then.

Edward was attentive and his English accent entranced me. I constantly asked questions to listen to him speak. He took his time, but he never revealed anything about his personal life in England. It was as if he purposely skirted the question, and soon I kept away from that private side of him.

That night when he walked me to our room, holding my hand, I hoped he would kiss me like Tyrone Power did to all of the beautiful women in the movies. Of course, I shouldn't have known about that, but I'd learned if I wanted to go to the movies behind my father's back, I had to let the farm hands take me.

But Edward was more than Tyrone. I wanted to be in his arms and drink in his sweet-scented cologne. No man smelled that alluring in Coffeyville. He’d been called a sissy, but Edward was anything but that!

I got my wish that night, and more.

It’s the late fifties, and as the daughter of a Baptist preacher, I realized after a short period of time, I was going to rot in Hell and burn like the sinners my father screamed about every Sunday, from the sinful dreams I had about Edward.

But nothing prepared me for Edward Dunnehill.

I probably shouldn’t say this to you, my sweet innocent baby. I’ve certainly committed the sins of vanity and immorality, but I pray when you read this as a man, you won’t judge me too harshly and forgive me.

I never felt the slightest shame or guilt for my rather unsanctified behavior. I slid into the devil's alley and was prepared to live with Edward, for as long as he wanted.

The next day’s singing rehearsal was wonderful as Edward coached me all afternoon. That night I sang for his clients. I wore a sinfully low cut gown with a heart-shaped bodice that shimmered in gold, hugging my tall, lithe body. And with my blunt cut blonde hair, was curled, and piled high on my head. I knew I could hold my own with any magazine cover model. I swelled with confidence, every time I looked out into the audience and saw Edward's delightful blue eyes, beaming with pride at my performance.

When I ended my set, it was Edward that finished last with his applause. As he walked towards me, he said.

You sing like an angel, an angel from Heaven. How lucky I am to find you.

My handsome Edward took my hand and kissed it, and I felt the tingling and my love for him. I sat proudly watching him be him and listening to his silken voice for hours after the dinner.

This became our routine for about a week. The routine of rehearsal, fine dining, and showing me off to his new horse-breeding acquaintances.

Then one day Edward approached and placed his arms around me, declaring that he'd fallen in love with me, and wondered how I felt.

I smiled, did he really need me to say the words? Hadn't my eyes told him a thousand ways that I'd loved him too since the first moment I saw him.

Edward wanted to be married immediately. He told me he had a way. He peeled the hundred-dollar bill off a thick stack and handed it to the judge. In the excitement of the moment, we realized we hadn’t bought any rings. He promised we'd pick them out the next day. Moments later, we were married and driving away.

That night was the start of a wonderful honeymoon, and I didn’t want to stop because I was terribly in love with him. After he drifted off to sleep, and I was on the edge of slumber when the call came. Edward resisted the ringing for as long as possible.

His facial expression was greatly troubled as he sat on the edge of the bed, tears flooding his eyes. I couldn't imagine what could hurt this strong, invincible man.

When Edward hung up, he sat quiet and reflective.

I dared not to speak. I couldn't imagine his pain. Then he broke the silence.

It's ... father, he's been thrown from a horse, and they are not sure he will survive.

I took Edward in my arms and he cried like a baby, openly and unabashedly.

And then the awful words reverberated throughout our room.

I have to catch a plane as soon as possible.

And that was it.

Edward, I corrected, you mean 'we' have to catch a plane?

But that was not what he’d said. Edward quickly packed his things while telling me that I wasn't getting on the plane with him...

In shock, I'd hardly heard the explanation that his father was gravely injured, and he was required to return home and would smooth the way for my eventual arrival. That this marriage would be a surprise to his extended family, since his mother passed away, and he needed to prepare them. That as soon as it was manageable, he would send for me. And that was that.

I packed my things in a large paper bag. All I had of him were the incredibly beautiful things he’d bought me folded in a crumpled brown paper sack. Edward put me on the bus at the station on his way to the airport. I watched the planes heading toward the sun wondering which one carried Edward thousands of miles away from me.

I cried all the way home. I cried for months, waiting for a letter, a phone call ... any communication. Then one day, I cried because I knew I was with his child ... you … my sweet baby. You were all that was left of the dream, of the man that I loved with all my heart. I waited until I could keep you a secret no longer, hoping that any day your father would return.

But another day arrived, the one when I needed to share the wonderful news with your grandfather.

Unfortunately, he didn't believe that I was married, screamed I was a whore, a Jezebel. He demanded to show him the license. I didn't have it and I explained that your father, in his haste, took it with him

Where's the wedding ring?

Again, my explanation fell apart, that our courtship had been fast, and there wasn’t a ring. We’d planned to buy rings the next day, but instead, he’d flown away.

At first, I thought your grandfather missed what I explained to him. Then he grabbed me and shook me hard as if to shake you out of me, and I watched the tears stream from his eyes down over his old worn cheeks.

I broke loose from him and ran screaming out of our weather trodden house, down the creaking, broken steps, onto the small dirt path that led to the highway about a half-a-mile away. I cried as I walked for miles, wondering what would become of me. At eighteen, I had no clue for my survival, let alone yours. I only knew I had to find a way. It was two days later. I'd hid and slept in old man Douglas's barn until I mustered all my courage to go home.

Father ignored me, hardly speaking to me the next few months. Each Sunday, he'd preached about the lust of the devil and going to Hell. He was basically telling me, I was on the expressway to Hell, carrying you inside me. But I didn't care. You were Edward's, a part of the most beautiful moments of my life. Each week as you grew, I loved the feeling of life within me, and your strong hands and feet tickling my bones inside my body. Your very presence kept me going those last days before I knew you were coming.

My father wouldn’t let me go to Doc Parker, a parishioner. His nurse Mary, came to my aid in secret, to help me understand what was happening to me. She promised she would help me with your delivery.

This brings me to yesterday,