Ms. Emily, The Ignis Fatuus Ploy: The Gift, #6

By Kara Beth Huddleston

Ms. Emily, The Ignis Fatuus Ploy

What was she thinking? Emily Thurston, Atlanta surgeon and avowed city girl ends up in the mountain backwoods north of Atlanta after winning an invitation to a horror-writing seminar. Little did she know her daughter, Clarissa, and their creative writing teacher, Zane Grant, intend to set her up romantically with his dissembling dad and famous author, Zachary Grant. The kids are determined to win a trip to the Bahamas from an ongoing contest perpetrated yearly by Zachary's family.

In the midst of expanding her writing skills, she and the class of imaginative sleuths-in-training seek to find the culprits who caused the mayhem that plagues the property. The bodyguards brought in to protect the ladies end up needing protection from the matchmaking plans of the older members of the class.

Health issues and an immediate attraction to her teacher cause Emily to question her life's trajectory. When she is threatened by the class bully, she must use her past experiences to protect her future. Will her ignis fatuus ploy keep her from a chance at love?

 

Caveat Emptor

Books by KB may contain a few naughty words, occasional, mildly inappropriate behaviors, conservative viewpoints, religious ideologies, politically incorrect scenarios, activities beyond 'neuro normal', and plain old imagination.

If any of these things would cause offense, feel free to keep on walkin' down the line and buy someone else's books.

If you want a fun read, come on, grab a glass of iced tea, pull up a chair, sit a spell, and enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kara Beth Huddleston
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781393744160

Kara Beth Huddleston

As a lifelong learner, Kara Beth self-identifies as a silver-haired, seasoned, sophisticated matron who wishes her creative efforts be widely dispersed before she leaps enthusiastically into eternity. Her three daughters call her quirky. It’s all about perspective. She could never keep in the lines in a coloring book or follow a recipe. Marching to the beat of her own drum gives a whole new meaning to syncopation. Though every authority has told her to write a serious bio, this is the best she can manage. She and husband, Ronald, recently celebrated 50 years of putting up with each other. They have the best kids (and their spouses) in the world, and grandchildren are their constant delight. Kara Beth is a Texan by birth, Yankee by schooling, and Georgian by retirement. She has degrees in music education and media communications. Through the years, she led children’s classes and choirs, wrote and produced Christian children’s musicals, and taught elementary music and private music lessons. She was also a homebound tutor for a large high school and has costumed for churches, schools, and regional theater.  She believes that the mind is capable of much more than anyone can imagine and believes in love at first sight. She is a staunch right-wing conservative. She believes in God’s supernatural power and His desire to interact with mankind. If you want to know the real Kara Beth, check out her blogs.

Book preview

Chapter 1

EMILY KICKED THE FLAT, left front tire, pounded the smoking hood, and raised her hands to the sky. Can’t You give me a break, God? Seriously! In the middle of nowhere at the crack of dawn, and I get this! she shouted as she kicked the tire again. I spent three hundred and fifty stinkin’ dollars for that lyin’ son-of-a-gun to make sure my car was fixed for this stupid trip! And this is what I get? Are You jerkin’ me around, or what? She stormed around to the trunk and extricated the tire iron and jack from the storage compartment. She struggled briefly trying to pull the tire from its nest before once again addressing the unseen Deity in a more polite tone. Okay, God, can You please give a lady a hand? Pretty please? With no answer, she crawled into the trunk to get better leverage. She continued to mutter to herself as she tugged.

A man perched in a nearby tree grumped at the interruption of his early morning excursion but laughed silently at the woman’s frustration. He finally decided she was truly in need of help. After securing his camera and binoculars around his neck, he climbed down from his lofty roost. The magnolia warbler sighting would have to wait while he tended to a non-native cuckoo bird. He walked to the car, wisely keeping a good distance between himself and the irate woman who was pounding the spare tire compartment with the tire iron. He spoke softly. I’m not God, but maybe I can be of assistance.

Emily startled at the deep, raspy voice sounding behind her. As she turned, she lost her balance, and her arms pinwheeled as she fell into thin air. The hard ground knocked the wind out of her, but she was conscious enough to reach for the tire iron.

I don’t think you’ll be needing that! the man said as he kicked the tool. His ill temper was setting in. With a challenging week ahead of him, he had hoped for at least one last morning of solitude. He stared at the intruder.

Just my luck! Emily scowled at the man towering above her. In the early morning light, his salt and pepper hair glistened, but his face was still in shadow. She took his extended hand and stood, then brushed off the dirt as she grumbled in embarrassment. Her bruised pride would take longer to recover than her backside. Aren’t you going to ask me how I am? she asked indignantly.

Since your mouth seems to be in fine shape, I assume nothing of importance was damaged.

Emily glowered and raised her fist at the heavens. Okay, God. Go ahead. Add insult to injury! I fall on my keister, and You don’t even bother to send me a gentleman, much less a knight in shining armor! She continued to rage inwardly to keep from crying. She tried dialing AAA. Not even a signal. She ignored the man who continued to stand with his arms across his chest, his face unreasonably angry.

What are you doing in this driveway?

Not a whale of a lot apparently! Emily stared at the man, her mouth tight in anger. It’s my own dang fault I’m here and like it or not, I need his help. God, I am so mad right now! She cut off her rant at her ever-faithful Friend and accepted her fate. You know I hate to be dependent on anyone! But if I am to behave, I will need some serious intervention about my attitude. God, if You can spare some sweet spirit, I sure could use some. I was doing a drive-by –

A drive-by?

She held her palm to him. I was doing a drive-by to get my bearings for an appointment I have around here tomorrow. I need to know where I am going, and I hate being late.

You’ve got GPS on your phone.

She held up her phone and channeled her daughter’s saucy vocabulary. Duh! No service! Obviously, I didn’t plan the flat tire or the overheated whatever the heck is wrong with this piece of – Rather than lose her cool again, she removed the car’s manual from the glove box and hoped to find some magical instructions to the perplexing spare tire mystery. Good grief! I take out cancerous tumors all the time. I should be able to extract a smelly, heavy, repulsively dirty thing like a tire for heaven’s sake!

While focused on the book, she ran into the man who was carrying the replacement tire. She bounced back, lost her footing, and once again landed on her backside. She put her head in her hands and remained in the dirt. This situation did not bode well for her upcoming week.

As the man replaced the tire, Emily sat pondering her situation. It was entirely her daughter’s fault. Clarissa was taking courses beyond her degree to certify in teaching college honor’s students and had conned Emily into joining her in a creative writing course.

You need a life beyond the clinic, Clarissa had said.

You just want to take another class with Professor Grant! Emily responded before going along with Clarissa’s demand.

Clarissa was ready for someone special in her life, and she wanted Emily to go to class with her to check out her potential matrimonial target. The young professor was as enchanted with Clarissa as she was with him, and that made Emily very happy.

In addition to her daughter’s seemingly successful pursuit, Emily found she enjoyed creative writing. Her attendance to a by-invitation-only writing symposium in this wilderness stemmed from her own success in the class.

Emily had written several good pieces. A few were being published in a pediatric medicine magazine and another in a parenting magazine. The teacher, Zane Grant, entered her birdbrained horror story into a contest that resulted in her being plunked here on the side of a mountain in northern Georgia. Whoop-ti-do! I’m going to meet a crazy horror story author whose stories I hated! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why didn’t I just go on a cruise or something? She bunched her shoulders and hid her face deeper into her drawn up knees.

Give me your keys! The man demanded roughly.

She stood, brushed dirt from her jeans, and pulled the keys from her back pocket. Looking only at the man’s hands, she handed the keys over to him. A tear dropped down her cheek and onto his palm. She glanced up, afraid he had seen her weakness.

He didn’t look at her face as he handed her a slightly used handkerchief. Lots of allergies around here this time of year. Makes a person’s eyes water really badly.

She took the cloth and dabbed her eyes. She probably looked like heck anyway. She should have spent the night at home instead of driving straight from a late, emergency surgery. Avoiding heavy Atlanta traffic seemed like a good idea at the time. Arriving at her destination before local businesses opened had not been a wise choice. In the small towns she passed in the last hour, she doubted if any would be open on a Sunday anyway. God, hello! I’m needing some serious help here!

There was still no signal on her phone to call a garage, but Emily knew a redneck mechanic when she saw one. The speed of the tire change hinted at his expertise. She prayed he would be able to fix the piece of junk, and she could be on her way. She watched as he checked around under the hood of the car.

I’m Emily, Emily Thurston. At his continued silence, she shifted uncomfortably, wringing his handkerchief. Horrible scenes from the novel by the symposium presenter grabbed her nerves. This could be a serial killer for all she knew. She tried her phone. Again, nothing.

He took the handkerchief from her and wiped engine grime from his hands. It will take more expertise than I have. I’ll call the garage from the house. He held out his hand. David Nelson.

She finally saw the man in full light. His shaggy grey hair, scruffy beard, and lumberjack shirt indicated an outdoorsy type, but his polished, expensive boots, designer jeans, and precise speech pointed in another direction. She assessed the man as she held his hand. Nice specimen, well proportioned and lean. Agile. Good skin color, clear eyes. No glaring deformities. Strong. She turned her hand to glance at his nails. Well groomed, good color behind the nails, no ridging. Healthy physically. Mentally, I’m not so sure.

What are you really doing here? he demanded. He finally recognized the name and remembered seeing her picture on his son’s Facebook site. She shouldn’t have come this early. It ruins the whole day!

Emily huffed as she dropped his hand and wiped her dirty palm on her jeans. Rude. Insensitive and arrogant! His impoliteness drove Emily to reciprocal incivility. Have I stumbled upon your meth lab back here in the boondocks? Disturbed your moonshining enterprise? She stomped her foot. Her fatigue and frustration intensified her anxiety. Dang it! I didn’t even want to come! I shouldn’t have gone to the stupid class with my daughter or won the idiotic contest! My story had an absurd and irrational ending because I don’t like unhappy-ever-afters! I absolutely abhor horror stories. I can’t find a hotel, much less the freako’s house where the writing classes are to be held. I am probably addressing a mass murderer at this very minute who wants to feed my liver to his hound dogs! She wiped tears with the back of her hand. Just take me to town, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll have someone get the car.

You have an extensive imagination, Mrs. Thurston.

Ms. Thurston, I’m not married.

You have a child.

Yes, Sir Inquisitor. Bought and paid for.

Mr. Nelson frowned deeper. A random father for your child?

Emily knew she didn’t have to answer but did anyway when her exhaustion made her unwisely garrulous. Not exactly. My ex-husband was tired of waiting for me to get pregnant and found more fertile pastures before we were even divorced. I waited a few years more. I chose carefully. Clarissa didn’t have a dad afterward, but my dad, brother, and uncles have all been an integral part of her life.

Why didn’t you marry again?

Emily flushed. You are the nosiest man I have ever met but to tell the truth, no one ever asked me.

Figures. You must be even more disagreeable with men than you are with God!

With that comment, Emily’s emotions dove over the edge of reasonable, and she exploded into a laughing fit. God tells me that quite regularly!

God talks to you? What has Zane sent me this time?

Not out loud, silly! You know from the Bible verses like ‘Better to live in the wilderness than with a contentious and complaining woman’.

At least she has that right! The wilderness had certainly been his refuge.

There are other verses, Emily continued. I just can’t seem to overcome the being vexatious part. So I am alone. In the middle of nowhere. Talking to a serial killer. Waiting to attend a writer’s workshop. From a horror writer, no less. I think I’m doomed, she stated melodramatically.

Have you made a motel reservation?

Emily studied his face and tried to discern his intent.

If you haven’t, you may as well go to the retreat center and settle in.

You know the guy I’m talking about?

Jonathan Morgan, yes.

Is he nice?

I think so, he said with a shrug.

He won’t mind? How do you know?

He won’t mind. I live on the property and work around there sometimes. That is, I work here between my serial murders and moonshine business escapades. He slammed the hood shut. I gave up the meth lab last month. Cops got too close.

Emily rolled her eyes, knowing she deserved the teasing. Do you need to call ahead?

No. Gather your things. He took two small suitcases from the trunk as she retrieved a huge purse and a computer bag from the front seat. This is it? At her shrug, he nodded. Good. He picked up his camera bag and binoculars on the way.

Is it far? Emily whined. Walking around a clinic or hospital all day was way different from climbing ridiculously steep roads.

Far enough.

It was more than far enough for Emily to be totally winded and to become even grumpier. Mr. Nelson shared no conversation but slowed his pace to match hers. She could see an impressive house at the top of the hill, but David led her to a set of ten cabins at the end of the relatively level driveway. At cabin four, he unlocked the door and escorted Emily inside. He showed her the thermostat, small washer and dryer, and the empty refrigerator. David continued the tour to the bedroom and bath. The cabins have in-line water heaters, but they don’t always function properly. Let me know if you can’t get hot water. He ran the water briefly and was satisfied with the temperature. I’ll call a tow truck for your car, then I’ll be down with brunch in an hour and a half. Settle in. I’ll show you where to get phone service after we eat.

Emily called her thanks as he strode from the cabin. He turned and warned solemnly, Lock your doors, I hear there are zombies living right down the hill. He pointed toward the house. Three extraterrestrials landed over there last week.

Emily’s fright abated with his teasing. No one in his right mind or out of it would hike this far just to do someone in. Unless they are already here! She shivered. Good grief! I shouldn’t have read that goofy guy’s idiot horror stories. Zombies, aliens, and bloodthirsty spirits. Foolishness!

She surveyed the room. The cabin was small but well equipped. The kitchen would be more than adequate since she brought no food with her and at this point had no way to get any. The symposium instructions said three meals a day were provided which was one more than Emily usually had, so that wasn’t a problem. She checked the laundry facilities. She packed light anticipating the ability to do laundry, but she forgot detergent. The shelf beside the unitized washer/dryer offered several laundry options. The linen closet beside that was well stocked with high end products for personal care.

Emily noticed the quality of the furnishings and the structure itself. She had won the contest but still paid more than she felt was appropriate for the week’s event. If Clarissa hadn’t insisted, she would have refused the ‘honor’ and saved her money. The cabin and its accouterments were well above the average accommodations she had seen in other retreat centers or even hotels, so maybe the price tag was appropriate.

She made sure the doors and windows were locked and the shades were closed before she undressed for a shower. Fatigue hit her hard as the warm water soothed her aching muscles. Deciding on a brief nap rather than fixing her hair and makeup, she donned a sweat suit and crawled into bed with a towel wrapped around her wet hair. The only concession to her fear was the sheathed scalpel on the nightstand. Within seconds she was asleep.

An hour later, David knocked repeatedly on the door of the cabin. Emily finally roused herself enough to realize where she was and stumbled into the living room just as he entered using a master key. His worried expression quickly transformed to aloof carelessness.

Though there was only a flicker of concern, Emily had seen it. Considering his earlier rudeness, she chose to ignore it and deemed it her imagination. Other than family, no man had concerned himself with her wellbeing for many years, so she would not expect it from this stranger.

She sighed. It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it, God? She yawned and grumped at her foolishness. Through the years, her self-inflicted alienation from companionship had stolen the opportunity to share life with someone who cared for her. What’s done is done. Spilled milk, burned bridges, yada, yada, yada.

She focused on the large picnic basket David carried. Her stomach growled loudly in anticipation.

I’ll take that as appreciation for the food I prepared while you lazed.

He set the table for two without asking her permission. Not that he needed to – he was in charge here. Emily wondered if the other guy was going to be as rude as this one but since he brought food, she’d give him a pass.

She removed the towel she had slept in and shook her long bob into some semblance of style, Man, I didn’t just laze. I crashed! That fresh air and hike from hell did me in! Or it could have been from driving after working since six yesterday morning.

Whiner, he teased gruffly.

Emily shrugged. I’m prone to that. She searched the cabinets for glasses and filled them from the refrigerator spigot. How do I know you aren’t poisoning me or something? she asked as she sat down. That’s what the guy did in one of his stories.

What guy? You mean Jonathan? He served an ample portion from the casserole dish onto her plate and put the casserole dish in front of himself. At her puzzling glance he explained, I don’t want to wash another dish. The dishwasher in this cabin is on the blink until the repairman gets here Monday.

He waited for her to indicate whether or not a prayer was in order and motioned for her to perform the task. She bowed her head. God, I’m tired and grumpy, so forgive me, but I am awfully thankful for this food, so bless David, or whatever his name is for his help today and for this food, unless it is poisoned in which case please protect me from botulism or arsenic and if that happens, please reap just retribution upon this man’s very handsome head. Thank you for all good things. Amen.

David shook his head and helped his dish with mounds of vegetables. Jonathan is going to eat you alive if all your sentences are as run-on as that prayer. He buttered a huge roll and slammed the knife onto the table. And what do you mean whatever my name is?

Emily fingered the scalpel she had placed in her pants’ pocket. His anger seemed faked, but one never could really know a person’s potential for violence. She looked at him thoughtfully. You shouldn’t be a David. You don’t look like a David at all! I think you should be Kristoff, or Jean Pierre, or maybe Jacques. Even with grey hair, you are very formidable and intimidating.

You told God I was handsome.

Did your mother name you David?

He gulped a big bite of food and frowned. Talking with you is a ridiculous comedy! he declared.

When a person is lying to me, I treat them as foolishly as they treat me. Emily spoke calmly, but the depth of her tone expressed her momentary strength. She waited with one hand on the table with the other in her pocket.

David mirrored her demeanor. Why do you think I’m lying?

I don’t know why. I just know you are.

He threw an arm over the back of his chair and settled back in casual challenge. Who do you think I am?

If indeed I am at the right place for my seminar, I’d say you are Jonathan Morgan, though I think that is a pen name to hide your identity. If I had computer access, I would search the tax records to see who owns the property. Since I don’t, my intuition will have to be my guide.

David’s eyes narrowed. And what does your intuition say?

Emily was too tired to deal with his game. I’d say you are being a jerk, maybe because I disturbed your bird watching this morning, or photography, or whatever you were doing out that time of the morning.

Good inductive reasoning. I’ll give you credit for that.

I think you disrespect women as much as I distrust men. You play games to embarrass or control. If you are the author, you think every woman who comes to your seminar wants you or something from you. You protect yourself and your reclusive lifestyle by abusing others, thereby keeping them at bay.

Interesting thought processes, Ms. Thurston.

Emily ignored him for a few moments while she gathered her thoughts and calmed her spirit. Though she was somewhat afraid and way outside her comfort zone, she felt the week may prove interesting enough to offset the expense. Just to study this complex person across the table might even be compensation enough. Unless he was some sort of psychopath, she would stay as much of the week as she deemed worthwhile. The food was good, and she was hungry enough to finish before continuing the conversation.

She picked at a crumb on the table. You can call yourself whatever you please, I won’t upset your routine. I’ll learn what I can from your teaching, use what I can, and forget the rest. She stood in determination and strength, but her knees weakened with fear. She held the back of the chair for support.

David clicked his front tooth with his fingernail.

Emily’s fear evaporated. She knew the connection that had brought her here. Zane does that.

What?

The clunking of your front tooth. My creative writing class instructor, Zane Grant, does it while we are writing. It drives me crazy. She straightened and announced her epiphany. You are Grant’s dad. Not David Nelson or Jonathan Morgan.

He stood and applauded. Bravo! He shook her hand for the second time of the day. Zachary Grant, aka Jonathon Morgan, at your service! Good job! You have keen observation and reasoning skills coupled with strong intuition and the imagination to become an excellent writer! He ruffled her hair on the way to the fireplace. Please join me, and let’s start over.

Emily wondered at the affectionate touch and studied his calm appearance. Had she passed a test, or did her challenge make him rethink his subterfuge? The day was cool enough for the fireplace, but she wondered if she should go along with his sudden desire to be friendly.

The glass fire crystals illuminated the reflective fireplace cavity. He retrieved wine and dessert from the basket and set them on the coffee table.

I want to talk to my daughter, Emily demanded quietly.

I just talked to Zane. They were going hiking.

I want to talk to her. Now! She handed him her ipad. Facetime!

He bowed playfully. Yes, your majesty. He opened a cabinet, attached some cables, and connected the internet. Emily dialed Clarissa’s number.

Her daughter answered cheerfully, and Zane peeked over her shoulder. On Emily’s end of the conversation, Zachary bent into the picture.

Hey, Mom. I heard you had some trouble this morning. Good thing Zane’s dad was around to help.

The men exchanged greetings. What’s up, Ms. Emily? Is Dad giving you a hard time? Zane asked.

Emily glared at the screen. Yes, he is. I am thankful for his assistance, but –

Clarissa gasped in horror. Mom! she drawled out the name into a three-syllable whine. What on earth are you wearing? It looks like you just got out of bed! That’s no way to make a good impression.

I did just get out of bed. I am wearing a sweatsuit, and I am here to learn, not to impress anyone!

But that’s the whole rea – Clarissa began but when nudged by Zane, she chose to ignore his warning. Are jeans and sweats all you packed? Say it isn’t so!

I packed what is essential.

I’ll overnight some other clothes for you. You were supposed to – Clarissa’s rebuke was interrupted by another elbow punch from Zane.

I’m not sure what you are upset about. Mr. Grant does not need to be impressed with me for you two to have a relationship. And for me not to be told the host was Zane’s dad is unconscionable! Emily could tell from their expressions something else was brewing, but she was too tired to continue the conversation. I know you aren’t going to apologize, so I’ll let it go. I just wanted to let you know I got here safely, sort of. I’m going back to bed.

It’s only eleven o’clock, Mom! Shouldn’t you be entertaining your host?

Be assured he has amused me beyond measure, my dear, but it is not my responsibility to entertain him. And I don’t care what time it is, I am going back to bed!

Realizing her mom’s state of mind, Clarissa shook her head in defeat. I love you, Mama.

I love you, too, sweet baby. Be safe and be a lady. Have a good day. Emily hung up.

Thank you for the call, I think, Emily moved around the dining table, picking up dirty dishes. She is so bossy! I don’t think Zane knows what he’s in for! She held up her hands to stop her rant. I’m sorry. I’m intolerable when I get this tired and nervous. Please forgive me. I would like to start over with you. If our children are going to have a friendship, I should be more cordial. But maybe in five hours or so? Emily piled the dirty dishes in the sink. I’ll wash them when I get up. Thank you for your generosity. She left the room and flopped into bed.

Zachary was left dumfounded and relieved. Explaining what their children had in mind would send his guest into another shouting match with God and probably him as well.

Chapter 2

TRUE TO HER INTERNAL alarm clock, Emily woke up precisely five hours later. At this awakening, she did manage to put on her nicest outfit, do her hair, and apply a hint of makeup. She texted an apology to Clarissa and promised herself she would make proper amends with her host if the opportunity arose.

The late afternoon sun shone brightly on the side porch, and a colorful, red and black bird perched on the rail as if challenging her to join him. She grabbed the birding book from the side table and stepped through the sliding doors into the fresh air. It was much chillier than home, so she went back in for a sweater. As she returned to the porch, the bird flew but only to the lowest branch next to the