Reincarnation Connection

By Lura Ketchledge

When psychic Tess Hamilton’s husband literally tosses her to the curb in New York City, she soon after experiences an anaphylactic reaction to a pill that transports her to another dimension. During that interlude, Tess views large segments of her past-life, in tandem, as a spectator and from the first person perspective of Abigail Cantrell, a young woman struggling to survive the Civil War. Among the revelations is that Tess essentially married the same husband twice, and, in both incarnations, got trapped between a father and son in conflict. Tess flees to the posh horse country of Middleburg, Virginia to recover. Retaining some of Abigail’s traits and talents, and urged on by a ghostly intervention, Tess teams up with an historian to resolve a murder mystery that occurred a century ago. When her polo-playing former beau Conrad Winslow-shows up in Middleburg, Tess desperately tries to resolve her past-life to secure her future with Conrad. With her vengeful ex-father-in-law, now determined to kill her, the clues Tess retrieved during her Near-Death Experience hold the key for her survival—if only Tess can decipher the enigma in time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lura Ketchledge
• Release date: May 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463229750

Lura Ketchledge

From Lura Ketchledge, a well-respected paranormal expert, comes The Near-Death Saga book series. Lura is currently open to sharing treatments, synopses and full book text with legitimate agents and movie studios. The paranormal romance novels are set in the horse world, while wrapped in a murder mystery with characters that have had Near-Death Experiences and returned with psychic gifts.

Book preview

Reincarnation Connection: Part One

Chapter One

February 7, 1986, LaGuardia Airport, Outside of New York City

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It was raining, it was cold, and hailing a cab at the airport in the middle of winter wasn’t fun.

Tess dragged her heavy suitcases alongside her and collapsed into the backseat of a taxi. All she muttered was, 81 st and York Avenue, please. With Tess’s faint New Orleans accent, the veteran cabbie assumed she was from out of town. Looking up at the reflection of the expressionless face of the cab driver in the rearview mirror reminded Tess that she was back in New York.

She didn’t want to waste any time or make small talk; she just wanted to get home. Getting home was all she could think about. It was late afternoon and Tess had been traveling since 9:00 a.m. She was worried and stressed because her last phone call with her husband just the day before had ended in an ugly fight.

Arriving home, Tess was greeted by her favorite doorman, an older heavyset man named Patrick O’Malley. Patrick had always been kind and discreet to her, even when he was getting Tess’s inebriated husband safely to their front door. It was good for Tess to see a friendly face after all she had been through, attending her father’s funeral and the shock of his death.

Patrick took the mismatched bags out of her hands and carried them to the elevator. As the elevator door closed, Tess noticed the worried look on Patrick’s face… like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Once on her floor, Tess awkwardly rolled her suitcases down the long hallway behind her and took off her wet raincoat at her front door. She fumbled for her keys, finally finding them in the bottom of her cluttered brown leather purse. Tess tried to open her door several times, then, confused, checked to see if she had the right key. A feeling of panic and hurt ran through Tess each time she tried to turn her key, and she started to cry.

It was the right key, it was the right door – her front door – it just wasn’t the same lock. It didn’t fit anymore because the locks had been changed. Deep down, Tess knew the husband she loved had changed the locks of their front door, locking her out, and the thought tore her apart.

Tess sat on the floor next to her suitcases crying uncontrollably for fifteen minutes before she could compose herself and plan what to do next. These were the emotional tears of a little girl, not a pretty young woman in her mid-twenties.

With both bags in tow, Tess headed for the lobby to ask the doorman to call a locksmith so she could get into her apartment. Patrick couldn’t look Tess in the eye; he was polite but firm, and he told her that he couldn’t call a locksmith because she no longer lived there. Patrick O’Malley also informed Tess that he had called her husband, Sonny Domeano, and told him she was trying to get into his home.

Tess’s stomach turned over with each word the doorman said. Patrick O’Malley’s cool detachment towards her, his loss of familiarity, his disconnection towards her as a human being all showed Tess where she stood with her husband.

Suddenly, Sonny Domeano burst into the lobby, looking like a gangster in a loud three-piece suit and acting like one, too. His cold brown eyes matched the dark brown hair that was slicked off his face to the point of looking greasy.

Sonny swaggered towards Tess with anger, waving his arms and shouting. His face showed irritation and rage. He looked like a younger version of his father, only thinner, as he came at his wife. Stocky and square-shouldered, Sonny came off taller than his true height.

Sonny yelled at Tess, saying he’d changed the locks and thrown her clothes out in the trash. He dropped in some rather profane suggestions as some of the other tenants walked past. It was a one-sided conversation for all to hear, filled with vulgar language and serious threats. Tess didn’t even try to get a word in. There was no room for an argument with Sonny. There never was.

During her marriage, all Tess had wanted from Sonny was to be heard.

Sonny’s parting statement to his wife was kicking her suitcases over, blocking the elevator door. The contents of the suitcases breaking inside made a sharp, crackling sound that resonated throughout the lobby like someone smashing a mirror.

On the way out of the elegant lobby decorated with brass handled doors, sparkling chandeliers, Greek marble floors and uniformed doormen, Sonny demanded that Patrick O’Malley call the police if Tess didn’t leave the building in ten minutes.

The singular utterance Tess got out of her mouth: ‘I trusted you.’

As Sonny turned his back to Tess and left the building, she watched like a wounded animal from the lobby’s window, pressing her hands against the glass. He got into his gray Lincoln town car parked in front of the entrance and drove away. Tess felt in the pit of her stomach that would be the last time she would ever see her husband.

Tess wasn’t just hurt and humiliated: she was homeless. With less than a hundred dollars in her pocket, Tess was forced to call a friend for help or sleep on the street that night. Walking past one of her Upper East Side neighbors that had witnessed her husband ranting and raving at her, she felt humiliated. Patrick O’Malley wouldn’t look Tess in the eye he just wheeled her suitcases to the curb with Tess right behind him like he was taking out the garbage and went back into the comfortable lobby. Tess couldn’t hold back her tears she felt like it was the end of the world.

At the payphone, on the sidewalk in front of her former home, Tess Hamilton Domeano began calling her friends. Unfortunately, most of her friends – the ones she had spent the last two years with – were connected to her husband in one fashion or another. First she called her close friend Shelly Martinelie who lived two blocks away. Shelly was like family, but she was also married to one of Sonny’s business associates. Tess thought Shelly was her best friend… it turned out she wasn’t. Shelly told Tess that she didn’t want to get involved and hung up the phone.

Her next call was to Kathy Barone, a distant cousin of her husband and a constant companion to Tess. Kathy’s words were less abrupt than Shelly’s, but the message was the same. Tess didn’t bother to call any more of her friends she met through her husband or her sisters-in-law; she already knew what their response would be.

Joanne and Anthony Augustino were the only parental figures in Tess’s life, and she desperately needed to connect with them. With the Augustinos traveling in South America to look at racehorses, Tess didn’t know how to get ahold of them. All Tess wanted to hear was Joanne Augustino’s voice on the other end of the phone and ask her what she should do. With that not being an option, she felt lost.

Tess was too embarrassed to call Robert Hampton and his wife Ellen in Virginia. The Hamptons were the parents of her late best friend and she remained close to them after their daughter’s death. Tess couldn’t bring herself to dial Miguel Menendez, another good friend from Virginia, to ask for help, either. She was too ashamed.

All of Tess’s former roommates she lived with before she got married had moved away. Her neighbor from across the hall, Diana, would have certainly taken her in, but she was out touring on the road. Tess Hamilton had run out of people to call. Thumbing through the last of the numbers in her red leather phone book, under the letter W Tess read the name Kate Blankenship.

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If Tess lived a hundred years, she would never be able to remember how she had arrived at the Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue that afternoon. Did she take a bus? Did she take a cab? In the future, it would all be a total blur to her. All she would remember is that she made it somehow to the check-in counter, to the man standing behind the ornate front desk and said three words: Kate Blankenship, please.

Kate didn’t work at the front desk. She was middle management and it took a few minutes before she could be tracked down and get to the hotel lobby to meet with Tess. She was not a close friend of Tess; she was an acquaintance at best, although the two women really liked each other. Ironically, Tess had met her when she was planning her wedding reception at the Plaza two years before. Kate Blankenship was the Plaza Hotel’s wedding coordinator, a woman of refined taste and a lot of good common sense.

Tess wanted to blurt out everything that had happened to Kate, but was stunted by the lack of privacy, so she hesitated. With the desk clerk’s eyes on her and guests waiting to check in standing directly behind her, Tess asked Kate one simple question. She asked Kate if she could get a small room there for the night and pay with a personal check.

Tess knew that if her husband had changed the locks, he had also canceled her credit cards and cleared out her meager checking account. Tess knew paying with a personal check bordered on dishonesty, but she was desperate. The cheapest rooms at the Plaza started at three-hundred-and-seventy-five dollars a night. Tess would have gladly slept in a cheap flop house but that cost money too, something Tess had precious little of.

If Tess had only turned around, she would have seen a beautiful young woman wearing a long mud-stained, outdated, dress from the last century who had followed her from the street into the hotel lobby. A wave of cold air swept by Tess, making her shiver for an instant. The ghost lingered for a moment before fading into nothing.

Kate Blankenship was a smart, mature woman who had been married twice, herself; she knew there must be big trouble in Tess’s marriage to bring her to the Plaza. Kate accepted Tess’s personal check, believing it was good, then got her a room key, forgoing the usual paperwork. Kate, thinking she was doing Tess a favor, bumped her up into the expensive bridal suite. It was a Monday and the room was just sitting empty, but Kate didn’t think about her history in that room.

Kate didn’t have time to chat even though Tess looked like she needed someone to confide in; instead, Kate called for a bellman and went straight back to work.

When Tess got into the lavish three-room bridal suite, she handed the bellman a five dollar bill and asked him to leave. The bellman retained his forced smile, even though he was miffed the tip was so small.

Tess had somewhere between forty to sixty-five dollars left in her wallet, and that was all the money she had in the world.

She quickly threw her black raincoat over the back of a chair and headed for the bathroom to throw up. After Tess rinsed her mouth out with water, she gargled and brushed her teeth. Her reflection in the foot-to-ceiling bathroom mirror showed the most haggard version of herself she’d ever seen. She looked pale, and her hair was wet from the rain and needed to be combed. Her long-sleeved pale pink satin blouse had perspiration stains under her arms, and her black wool slacks were wrinkled.

Tess felt ugly down to her soul, all alone, and without hope. Seeing the stark reflection, she was taken back to the day she looked in this very same mirror not two years ago.

Here she was, the picture of loneliness. And yet it was in this exact spot where she was once completely surrounded by love.

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Just hours from walking down the aisle, Tess Hamilton looked into the gold-trimmed bathroom mirror and put the last finishing touches on her makeup. She carefully smeared on a little more pink lipstick and another soft spray of her favorite perfume. All done, Tess turned around in the crowded bathroom to see if her friends approved. Joanne Augustino picked up the mascara and applied another coat. People have to see your eyes in the back row, Joanne insisted.

Colleen Gallagher thought that with any more makeup, astronauts in space could see Tess coming down the aisle.

Joanne had her usual combination of heavy makeup on that rivaled a circus clown and enough hairspray to be a walking fire hazard. In her early fifties, Joanne was a pretty woman, blessed with a full, curvy figure, dark hair and eyes and a great pair of legs. Even though her makeup was overdone, her expensive blue velvet gown and sapphire necklace countered it. As Joanne Augustino was layering on another coat of mascara to Tess’s right eye, Colleen Gallagher carefully bobby-pinned the lace wedding veil to the back of Tess’s hair. The black eyeliner and heavy mascara made Tess’s one-of-a-kind blue-green eyes stand out. All the teasing and hairspray gave Tess’s mahogany brown hair volume and positioned the veil perfectly.

Tess’s form-fitting sleeveless white satin gown was tasteful yet simple with a V-shaped neckline and matching satin gloves. The gown’s classic, sophisticated style and contoured fit was appropriate for a young woman of twenty-six with a good figure and the height to carry it off. Her ‘something borrowed’: three strands of Joanne Augustino’s finest pearls with matching diamond and pearl earrings. Her ‘something blue’ was a lace garter she wore under her dress, given to her by her neighbor, Diana Appleton. The new wedding dress covered the last of the three ‘somethings’ that were supposed to give a bride good luck.

Tess’s shoulder-length dark brown hair was swept into a French twist with several curls left loose, giving volume and height to her hair. Tess’s makeup was a bit heavy – not the usual less is more that brides often shoot for – yet she was stunning just the same.

Right on cue, as soon as Tess was finished dressing, Dr. Ellen Hampton ushered the photographer and his staff into the eight-hundred-square-foot bridal suite and they began setting up their equipment in a fevered rush. It was 2:30 p.m. and they were running a half hour late for a 5:00 p.m. wedding.

The first set of pictures was just of the bride alone. It was the usual stuff: the bride holding the bouquet next to her face, several standing shots to capture the dress from the front and back, and a couple of sitting shots with the bride smiling, showing off her engagement ring. Towards the end of the shoot, all the ladies were included in several group pictures. There was Dr. Ellen Hampton, Colleen Gallagher, Joanne Augustino, and of course Tess’s future husband’s older sister, Rosemary Scarpo.

Joanne Augustino was like a second mother to Tess. Considering her real mother was dead, Tess appreciated Joanne all the more. Their relationship stretched over ten years, starting when Tess came to work at her Middleburg Virginia horse farm in Virginia when she was thirteen.

Always generous to people she cared about, Joanne had also thrown Tess her bridal shower two days earlier at the Ginger Man, a trendy restaurant on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

Colleen Gallagher had come all the way from Chicago for the wedding; she was Ellen Hampton’s mother and had known Tess since she was in junior high. Colleen looked more like Ellen’s older sister than mother. She had on a mint green silk evening gown with a matching green taffeta jacket. With natural dark blonde hair and baby brown eyes, Colleen was the classic beauty in the family. After all the pictures were taken, the photographer – a handsome older gentleman – did some serious flirting with Colleen Gallagher, causing her to blush like a school girl.

At 4:30 p.m., the call came from downstairs to tell them that the car was waiting. Tess and her entourage walked down the carpeted steps of the Plaza Hotel and out to Fifth Avenue to get into the waiting white stretch limousine. She backed awkwardly into the limo to avoid wrinkling her wedding dress; it was a slow and deliberate process. The limo was filled with five pretty ladies wearing their best clothes, going to a formal wedding with all the bells and whistles one could imagine.

Joanne Augustino had to ride up front with the limo driver because there wasn’t any room for her to sit; Tess’s train stretched over most of the back seat. Joanne Augustino, being a native New Yorker, instructed the limo driver where to go, how fast to drive, what streets to take and where to park all at the top of her lungs in her thick Brooklyn accent. By the end of the twenty minutes it took to drive from mid-town Manhattan to downtown Little Italy where the church was, the poor limo drive wished to God he had taken another job that afternoon.

Inside the church, the four bridesmaids were lined up like a row of ducks, waiting for Tess’s arrival. They were all relatives of the groom and dressed in matching burgundy velvet bridesmaid dresses. Tess kept the attendants to Sonny’s family only because the bridesmaids’ dresses from Saks Fifth Avenue were so expensive. Tess didn’t want to stick any of her girlfriends with a high-priced dress and shoes that they would never wear again. She had enough of them in her closets over the years to know they were a waste of money.

Colleen and Joanne straightened Tess’s gown and gave her hugs and encouragement before taking their seats. Ellen Hampton lingered behind, making sure every detail was perfect before taking her seat. She adjusted Tess’s veil and made sure the bridesmaids were lined up properly. Guests who didn’t know Tess mistook Ellen as the mother of the bride. She was certainly dressed like one, wearing the standard classic dusty mauve full-length dress with matching dyed shoes. It was your basic mother of the bride uniform. In truth, Ellen had always dreamed of her daughter’s wedding. With her daughter Madeleine gone now, this wedding was bittersweet for Ellen.

As the music played and Tess began her stroll down the aisle with Robert Hampton, Ellen’s husband, escorting her, she wanted to pinch herself. It felt too good to be true.

Just nine months before, Tess Hamilton was a cocktail waitress living in a dilapidated fourth-floor walkup on the Upper West Side with two other girls, struggling to pay the rent. She didn’t have a car; she didn’t have medical insurance or a credit card. Now she was living in an East Side luxury co-op with a view and a doorman.

Looking at the bride walk down the aisle – what the groom’s guests saw – was a whole different perspective.

Tess Hamilton had movie star good looks and a figure to match. She seemed a cross between two old time movie stars: Vivien Leigh and the sultry Ava Gardner. With Tess’s full breasts, small waistline and long shapely legs, there was little question as to what attracted Sonny to her. The groom’s family was all from the tri-state area, ranging from first generation to third generation Italian.

What most of the groom’s guests were thinking, meeting the bride for the first time in the church, was simple: he was marrying for beauty and she was marrying for money. Tess’s friends had a slightly different view, that the groom was marrying up in class and the bride was marrying down in class.

During the ceremony, right after the priest read a prayer and before the exchange of the rings, Tess glanced down the aisle and saw a woman standing at the back of the church while everyone else was seated. From a distance, her long cream colored dress looked like it had been splattered with mud and the young woman’s long, dark hair seemed unkempt and wild. The woman in the filthy dress was too far away for Tess to make out who she was. But still, even from a distance, Tess thought the unknown woman was remarkably beautiful. She looked familiar and foreign to her at the same time.

Even with just a glimpse toward the woman standing in the aisle, Tess felt an inescapable connection toward her. When Tess looked back after the exchanging of the rings, the mysterious woman wasn’t there. In a way, the strange woman seemed to have evaporated into thin air. Tess thought it odd, but put it out of her mind; she was too excited about getting married.

The service itself was the standard Catholic wedding mass, but it was held in the most beautiful church in New York City. Old Saint Patrick’s Cathedral was in downtown Little Italy off Mulberry Street. The old stone masonry and stained glass windows gave it a looming, gothic intensity from the outside. The second-oldest church in America, several movies had been filmed in its old world chapel. The backdrop was stunning: painted scenes on the ceiling, antique hand-sculptured pews and echoing organ music.

On the bride’s side of the church sat Dr. Nestor Menendez, the famous heart surgeon from Cuba, by way of Virginia, his lovely wife Inez, as well as their handsome thirty-something son Miguel Menendez. Tess was one of Miguel’s closest friends and over time Nestor and his wife grew to care for her, too.

Nestor Menendez was Cuban aristocracy, and he looked it. His naturally dark hair had greyed more than he liked, and he kept it freshly dyed. The combination of his raven hair, impressive height and a personality that only very successful men exude, all gave him a natural charm. He was the very best heart surgeon in the Washington, D.C. area, but he was also a real autocrat.

Away from the office and life and death decisions, Nestor’s disposition softened. He would be the first person at a party to pull you away from the crowd and tell you a dirty joke without ruining the punch line. He was also the first man on the dance floor and the last one to go home from a good party.

Inez Menendez grew up in Mexico, and her family roots branched out all through Latin America. She was a petite, heavyset woman bordering on plump. But with her hair up and wearing a designer gown, she carried her weight well. Underneath her formal exterior was a gentle loving soul. Ever the good wife and mother, Inez would have made a skilled politician. She knew how to get things done and was active in the anti-Castro movement. Her family was in big sugar, they had lost everything when Cuba was taken hostage by Fidel Castro.

Ellen Hampton sat on the bride’s side of the church along with her mother, Colleen Gallagher. Ellen was, as always, elegant. She was one of those rare people who knew just how to dress and carry themselves, wearing tasteful jewelry and blending classic clothing. Her stature, olive complexion, dark hair and eyes made her striking to look at. Maturity agreed with Ellen: it made her more approachable.

The story behind Ellen’s only daughter’s death was long and complicated. With Tess being Madeleine’s best friend, she had been in the thick of it from the beginning. After Madeleine’s funeral in 1979, the psychic twists and turns at first revolved around Tess Hamilton, then a neighbor named Sharon Landry. The reasons were simple: Ellen, her husband Robert, Miguel Menendez, and another man Madeleine was seeing, Jack Kidwell, all held on to the belief that Madeleine Hampton’s ghost would make contact again.

Since 1983, Tess had been the strongest link in the connection to Madeleine’s ghost. That is, because Sharon Landry went missing in 1983 – she started boiling pasta for dinner one night, all of her windows and doors shut and locked, and simply disappeared.

Robert Hampton was beaming with pride when he escorted Tess down the aisle. Robert was not a handsome man, only average height and almost fifty-six. His once thick brown hair was receding at the temples at a rapid pace. But Robert’s word was good and his smile sincere. Being a Civil War historian, people found Robert Hampton to be a little bookish. He was considered an expert on the army of Northern Virginia and the Eastern Theatre of Civil War battles. Robert Hampton was Ellen’s third husband, but she would be his only wife.

Earlier that morning, Anthony Augustino insisted that Robert, not he, be the one to give away Tess at her wedding. Anthony did it out of generosity because Robert would never be able to walk his own daughter down the aisle.

Joanne and Anthony Augustino sat proudly in their seats, watching Tess get married resembling proud parents. Joanne slipped her hand into her husband’s hand and gave it a squeeze. The couple smiled at one another, seeing the girl they both loved getting married. Anthony and his wife blended in with the groom’s family – they were all from New York and Italian.

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Anthony Augustino grew up in Brooklyn and his family had underworld connections.

The Augustino name still carried weight in New York, but only in Brooklyn and a few parts of Jersey. Anthony himself didn’t leave the house without wearing a good watch and a cashmere blazer. Every year like clockwork, he traded in his old Cadillac for a new one and paid a fortune to do it.

Old habits die hard and Anthony still carried a good deal of cash in his wallet, even though he had enough credit cards with him to make any purchase he needed. To someone who didn’t know Anthony Augustino, he could look very intimidating. He was tall, just over six feet, and he had broad shoulders that matched his muscular build. For some reason his hair at fifty-six was still a natural jet black. Only slightly overweight and at times hot-tempered, he was still someone who could pack a punch and send you to the hospital if he wanted to.

Anthony and Joanne, from the outside, looked like they fit right into Sonny Domeano’s family and friends, but they didn’t… they were nothing like the Domeanos. Anthony and his wife left New York so they could have a different life after his brother Carmine’s murder and the scramble of revenge afterward.

If anything, Anthony Augustino was an astute business man. By the time he was twenty-eight, he owned a string of low-end, run-down motels just outside of New York City.

Strapped for cash and heavily mortgaged, Anthony figured out a way to pay his debts and come out ahead. Seeing that the land would only go up in value, he sold off the property to the highest bidders with one stipulation: he would own a small percentage of the future buildings built there. With the cash he made selling off the motels in 1954, he invested the money in discount appliance stores all across Maryland and Delaware. The stores sold more than washers and dryers, they sold low-priced television sets, TVs the average American household could afford with the right low interest financing.

During the 1960s, Anthony invested heavily in two oil fields in Texas. Those investments over time started to add up, making him a millionaire seven times over before he was forty-one. Anthony, financially stress-free now and forever, was finally able to move to Middleburg, Virginia and do full time what he had dabbled in part time for years: breeding racehorses.

With no children of their own, Anthony loved Tess like a daughter, and especially hated to see her marrying into a questionable family. Without saying a word, you could see the concern on Joanne and Anthony Augustino’s faces during the lavish wedding reception.

Anthony had been approached by Tess’s father-in-law to-be several times in the past few days, adding to his concern. Like a shark circles his prey, Anthony knew the old man was trying to size him up before the wedding. He didn’t know why.

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The Grand Ballroom at the Plaza hotel was a big place and it was packed with people most of which the bride had never met. All night these strangers came up to Tess and stuffed her bridal purse with envelopes filled with cash. Tess didn’t know it, but she would never get to spend a dime of that money.

Tess Hamilton had only one living blood relative left: her father, Martin Hamilton. Martin called at the last minute saying he couldn’t make the flight from South Carolina because he had an inner ear infection and his doctor told him not to fly. It simply didn’t occur to Martin Hamilton that he and his new wife might drive to the wedding. Not having her Dad come to her wedding was a disappointment for Tess. But it was an echo of the past. Not having his attention growing up had been the crushing blow. Tess’s strained relationship with her father led her on a collision course with men that brought her into this doomed marriage.

At the reception, in the receiving line, Tess Hamilton – now Mrs. Sonny Domeano – got her first real glimpse into her husband’s extended family. The women, old and young, distant cousins and aunts, all welcomed her into their family, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The thing that stood out most to Tess was what they had on, not what they said to her. Each woman, down to the youngest of them, wore expensive designer dresses, some of them the most tasteless vulgar gowns Tess had ever seen. She also couldn’t help but notice the amount of jewelry the women had on. Every time she looked down to shake someone’s hand, she was nearly blinded by the glare of their diamond rings. All the groom’s male relatives were in tuxes, so you couldn’t tell if they were designer or knock-offs. The only clue that they were rich was that most of the men owned their tuxes.

It was a culture foreign to Tess, although she had gotten a taste of it over the last few months meeting Sonny’s friends after their engagement.

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Robert Hampton had always felt out of place at formal black tie dinners and blue blood fund raisers, all except this social occasion. He was having a good time dancing with his wife and socializing with the other guests. His mother-in-law Colleen Gallagher was being pursued all night by a widower from Italy who spoke in broken English and had a bodyguard. The widower had taken a shine to Colleen and tried to monopolize her evening, but he was struggling with his English, trying to pay her compliments. Even at sixty-nine years old and with graying hair, Colleen still had the men chasing her.

The food at the reception was to die for, all the liquor was top shelf, the service was impeccable, and the lobster and caviar kept coming. If Sonny Domeano had done one thing right, he chose the finest hotel in New York City for his wedding reception. As the night went on, the dancing and drinking at the reception never slowed down.

Some of the guests – not all – came across harsh and loud to Ellen Hampton and her husband. They met some nice people at the reception; unfortunately they weren’t related to the groom. Anthony and Joanne only socialized with Tess’s friends and kept their distance from the groom’s family.

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During the wedding reception, Miguel Menendez went around and asked the older ladies to dance. Being on the dance floor with the preverbal wallflowers was his way to avoid interacting with any available young women. Miguel didn’t bring a date to the wedding, although everyone wished he had. He was his usual downbeat self, at happy social occasions, talking constantly about his late girlfriend Madeleine Hampton and making people feel uncomfortable. Miguel’s parents suggested that he make an effort this time and have fun. As usual, their suggestions went in one ear and out the other. Take Miguel out of a social situation with strangers and he was a different person. At the office or on the polo field he was charming, fun, and interesting to be around. But, social events like weddings or formal affairs he backslid into grief. Miguel closed that side of himself off to any potential girlfriends never giving them a chance.

Miguel Menendez was a third generation Cuban aristocrat on his father’s side who could trace his ancestry directly to Madrid. What Miguel did not inherit was his father’s easy-going nature and sense of humor. Even early in his childhood, you could see Miguel would turn out to be a serious man.

Miguel brushed his straight ear-length black hair with a widow’s peak off his face. His smooth, even complexion was in dramatic contrast to his dark hair and nearly black eyes. Miguel was just over six-feet-one and he had a strong, lean build and washboard abs. At thirty-two, he was not an immature boy; he was a man. Add to that his straight nose, lady killer smile, when he looked at you, his gaze was piercing. Always immaculate in his clothes an appearance added to his appeal. Looking every bit the educated and sophisticated Spaniard, when Miguel Menendez walked into a room, everyone knew he was there.

Miguel didn’t take advantage of the fact that girls found him attractive. He was a serious man who wouldn’t, couldn’t or chose not to relax with female strangers.

From a distance, with his head aiming downward most of the time, between dances Miguel Menendez looked like he was brooding. Several available young ladies at the reception tried to catch his attention without success. Miguel didn’t ignore their signals; he was oblivious to them, living in his own world, as usual, with its own set of rules.

After his girlfriend Madeleine died in 1979, Miguel created a sort of self-imposed social exile from the opposite sex. His friends and family were perplexed by his behavior; they couldn’t understand why he was doing it to himself. There is no question that Miguel chose to stay in a perpetual state of grieving. Survivors’ guilt is a complicated state of mind. What he got out of it was having the status of a widower and the sympathy that accompanied it. In an unhealthy way, Miguel delighted in his suffering because it connected him to Madeleine, and it became a habit. Grief was now his constant companion instead of a real, live girlfriend.

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The groom and his family didn’t pay a bit of attention to Tess’s guests at the reception or the night before at the rehearsal dinner at the River Café in Brooklyn. Sonny’s family held court at their own tables, excluding his new wife’s friends.

If Sonny’s mother’s parents had come, they would have gone out of their way to make Tess’s people part of the wedding. His grandparents were sweet, kind individuals who together would have overridden any rudeness Sonny’s father might dish out. Unfortunately, both of Sonny’s maternal grandparents were in a nursing home in Italy. Sonny’s grandfather had lost his mind to dementia and his grandmother had lost her health to Multiple Sclerosis.

The snub from Sonny’s father’s family was obvious to everyone but Tess; she was too busy to comprehend what was going on.

Anthony Augustino had done some digging about Tess Hamilton’s future in-laws and didn’t like what he had found. The Domeano family was rumored to have an ongoing incestuous relationship with more than one New York crime family. Worse, Sonny’s father had criminal connections with several corrupt New Jersey politicians, meaning they were on his payroll. Anthony found out too late to tell Tess; he got the information the night before her wedding. Sweet Tess was a WASP from Virginia born into an educated middle class family without much money. Her grandparents instilled good manners and middle class values that would be ingrained into Tess for the rest of her life.

Tess was in love. She was oblivious to any danger and trusted her new husband without question.

All fairytales end at one point or another – sadly, some end quicker than others. It’s always after the wedding that the business of marriage falls into place. The real honeymoon took place before the wedding. Tess and Sonny had only dated for three months before they got engaged, then they lived together for six months before getting married. As a couple, they spent time together like going to the movies, had dinner with friends and got away for the weekend at a bed and breakfast or the beach. The time she spent with Sonny felt magical, mostly because Tess felt she was part of a family again.

It was the happiest year of Tess’s adult life. In that short time, the couple was happy, and their relationship was stress free.

Four days after the wedding, stress walked through the front door of Tess and Sonny’s co-op. What does an enemy do when he wants to destroy you? He pretends to be a friend and he brings you a gift. A gift with strings intended to choke the life right out of your marriage while you are thanking him.

Sonny’s father, Salvatore Domeano – or big Sal as he was called behind his back – had been polite towards Tess the few times he had been around her. Big Sal was just that: short and overweight. His face reminded you of an old time boxer past his prime who had taken too many punches to his face. Salvatore had cold, expressionless brown eyes and when he looked at you, his gaze was rarely friendly. His hair was white and Big Sal was as wide as he was tall. Most annoyingly, to everyone’s dismay, he smoked illegal Cuban cigars constantly and wasn’t careful where he blew the smoke. Even when Big Sal dined at the best restaurants in New York City, he chewed his food with his mouth open. To top off the unflattering caricature, the man never smiled. All in all, Big Sal cut a scary figure.

Salvatore Domeano was an abrupt man with everyone, tact being his weakest social skill. There had been a couple of family dinners and one picnic with Tess. The only time he spoke sharply to her was at the wedding, when he refused to dance with Tess at the reception. So when Salvatore unexpectedly dropped over to her home less than a week after the wedding, Tess was glad to see him.

Over a cup of espresso, Salvatore asked his son Sonny if he wanted to see a weekend house in Long Island with him that he was considering buying. Salvatore didn’t ask Tess, who was seated right next to her husband. When the trio got to Long Island a few hours later, it turned out to be much more than a vacation getaway home. It was an estate, not a weekend escape from the city.

In reality, Salvatore had been looking for months for the right property, ever since his son’s engagement. The country house was huge. It had seven bedrooms, a pond, a pool, and a horse barn. The house cost seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars before you even bought the adjacent land for four-hundred-thousand-dollars, which was needed to keep it completely private.

After seeing the farm, Salvatore suggested Sonny buy it with him. Salvatore didn’t need his son’s money; he could have written a check right then and there. But Sonny took the bait and said yes to the country house and the adjacent land. Tess couldn’t comprehend spending over a million dollars on a farm you visited four or five days a month. The whole thing didn’t make sense to her and felt like a big waste of time and money.

That day would