Ravenwood

By Linda Ellen Fletcher

Jillian Spencer is gifted with second sight, and while taking a morning stroll in a neighborhood park, she discovers the corpse of a murdered woman. When Jillian becomes the killer's next target, FBI Agent Mike Reynolds must find the predator before she becomes the next victim.

Mike takes Jillian to Ravenwood, a settlement founded by his aunt and uncle that's guarded like a fortress. He mistakenly believes Jillian is safe for the time being, but they soon face an unknown threat. If they are to survive, they must uncover the identity of the stalker and the mystery surrounding Ravenwood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528963299

Linda Ellen Fletcher

Linda Ellen Fletcher resides in Tennessee with her family and two sweet dogs, Zeplin and Sport. Before becoming an author, she had her own consulting company in Human Resources. She has always enjoyed mysteries and romantic thrillers and is a member of RWA. Ravenwood is her third romantic-suspense novel.

Book preview

Epilogue

About the Author

Linda Ellen Fletcher resides in Tennessee with her family and two sweet dogs, Zeplin and Sport. Before becoming an author, she had her own consulting company in Human Resources. She has always enjoyed mysteries and romantic thrillers and is a member of RWA. Ravenwood is her third romantic-suspense novel.

Dedication

In joyful memory of my beloved husband, Howard.

Copyright Information ©

Linda Ellen Fletcher (2019)

The right of Linda Ellen Fletcher to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528921077 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528963299 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Prologue

June 1997

Charlie Unger was adept at making people believe he was a nice person. That changed the summer he moved to East Meadows, a subdivision in Pennsylvania with cute, middle-class homes and manicured lawns.

The Spencer family lived next to Charlie, and six-year-old Jillian Spencer sensed the truth immediately. The first time Jillian saw Charlie, the muscles in her stomach tightened, and she envisioned the face of a monster. After that, she made unpleasant faces when he was in view.

On Saturday afternoon, Jillian sat on the patio with her mother, Ann, and colored in her new picture book. When Charlie came outside to work in the yard, Jillian sat quietly and glared at him for several minutes before continuing with her artwork.

Noticing her daughter’s reaction to Charlie, Ann said, Jilly Bean, are you having fun with your new crayon set?

The nickname sounded funny to Jillian, and she giggled, exposing the gap between her bottom teeth from a missing baby tooth. Sweetie, why did you stare at Charlie?

I don’t like him.

Surprised by Jillian’s response, Ann asked, Why don’t you like Charlie?

With certainty, Jillian said, Bad man.

***

Two months later, the police arrested Charlie Unger on charges of assault and attempted murder. When that happened, Ann recalled Jillian’s comment about Charlie, and discussed it with her husband, Bill.

It has to be a coincidence. Maybe there was something about his looks that bothered Jillian, Bill said.

Still, Ann wondered if there was more. This was not the first time her daughter had been intuitive, and Jillian’s grandmother was clairvoyant. What if Jillian had inherited that ability?

1

Twenty Years Later

The fresh-faced young woman with strawberry-blonde hair, and cornflower blue eyes stood at the vanity mirror and applied mascara, blush, and lip gloss. Jillian Spencer knew she was the spitting image of her grandmother, Kathleen McGregor, because she had been told that many times.

She donned a T-shirt, jeans, and sandals and went to the kitchen to prepare a breakfast shake containing pureed vegetables and fresh fruit. With shake in hand, Jillian walked out on the deck of her home, a two-story cottage style with pale yellow clapboard siding that rested on two acres. The sloping backyard overlooked Crystal Lake, which was the primary reason for purchasing the house. She sat in an old wicker chair, a flea market find, and listened to the rich yodeling of a loon overhead. Not half bad, she said aloud after tasting her morning concoction.

Freelance photography paid well and allowed flexibility in Jillian’s schedule. Between assignments, she planned to devote time to getting her house in order, something she had postponed because of prior commitments. After placing the now empty glass on the kitchen counter, she retrieved a stepladder from the garage and tackled the living room first. She began by hanging an oil painting of a meadow filled with blue, yellow, and purple irises above the brick fireplace. Next, she repositioned an off-white slip-covered sofa and two vintage leather chairs by the front window, creating a cozy seating area. Side tables with matching Tiffany lamps provided more lighting, and lastly, antique filigree candlesticks placed on each side of the mantel added classic charm. Satisfied with the overall design, she focused on the other rooms and worked nonstop until seven that night.

A familiar furry creature rubbed against her leg, so she bent down to pet the large gray and white cat, which purred, appreciative of the attention. The cat had followed Jillian home from a jogging sprint one morning and looked hungry, so she’d fed him. When he decided to stay and share her home, she named him Marcus. She filled a bowl with his favorite cat food and made herself a tuna salad sandwich for dinner.

2

Dawn was Jillian’s favorite time of day, when she could relax and not be tied to a schedule. She rose early that morning and walked to the neighborhood park nearby. Towering trees provided ample shade as she set out on the trail, listening to the birds tweeting overhead.

Right away, she recognized a dog’s bark and paused. When she looked back, she saw Charlotte Mitchell and her floppy-eared beagle approaching, so she waited. They walked together at a comfortable pace until Chip broke free from Charlotte’s loose grip on his leash and took off in pursuit of something.

Chip, come back! Charlotte commanded. Instead, he led them to a wooded area just ahead, where he let out a woeful-sounding howl.

Sensing something vile, Jillian said emphatically, Charlotte, don’t go any farther!

Charlotte covered her mouth to stifle a scream, then managed to say, Chip, come here. The beagle dutifully returned to her side, keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings.

Coupled with shock and fear, the women gaped at the graphic murder scene. A young woman was propped against a tree, nude from the waist up, with eyes wide open, as if staring at something, or someone. The bright red lipstick smeared across her lips resembled a frozen smile, and a yellow scarf was tied around her neck.

***

Within minutes of receiving the 911 call, patrol cars arrived at the park entrance, and Ed Carpenter approached Jillian and Charlotte. He was in his mid-thirties, average height, with a brawny physique and thinning hair combed to one side.

Jillian immediately sensed the detective’s arrogance and while she was accustomed to men noticing her, Detective Carpenter was ogling.

Ladies, where did you find the body? he asked authoritatively.

Charlotte, why don’t you stay here with Chip while I show Detective Carpenter? Jillian suggested. She would have preferred Charlotte come along, but knew it was best if she stayed behind with Chip.

Thanks. Chip will start the awful howling again if I go back there.

When they neared the crime scene, Jillian pointed and said, Over there, under that tree.

Wait here, Detective Carpenter said sternly.

Jillian didn’t appreciate his overbearing attitude. Don’t worry, I have no wish to view the murdered woman again, she replied with a hint of sarcasm.

After securing the crime scene, Detective Carpenter escorted Jillian back to the park entrance and leered at her again. So, Miss Spencer, do you live alone?

Yes.

I can stop by and make certain you’re OK. We can spend time together and see where it goes from there.

That’s unnecessary, she said coldly and could tell from his facial expression that her reply angered him.

Have it your way, he retorted.

They reached the park entrance and Detective Carpenter’s manner was brusque when he questioned Charlotte and Jillian. After jotting down a few notes, he flipped the notebook shut and said, That’s all the questions for now. You’re free to go, but be available for more questioning. He turned his back on them and walked away.

Charlotte looked at Jillian. Since we’re dismissed, do you want to stop at my house for coffee before going home?

Yes, coffee sounds good.

***

As soon as they reached Charlotte’s house, she called her husband and told him about the park murder, then joined Jillian on the patio. Trying to appear calm, Charlotte said, Stan offered to come home, but I told him to stay at work and finish his construction contract. She stirred cream in her cup and forced a smile. Do you like the coffee? It’s a blend of cinnamon and hazelnut. I wanted to try something different.

It has a nice flavor; I’ll pick up a bag.

After a few minutes of silence, Charlotte said, I’m sure neither of us wants to think about what we witnessed this morning, but I hope whoever committed this heinous crime doesn’t get off on an insanity plea. That poor woman.

The murderer may not be insane according to the legal definition. A person can be insane, yet still know right from wrong. Whoever committed the murder enjoys inflicting pain. Jillian shuddered at the thought of such a despicable act.

Charlotte studied Jillian momentarily before speaking. What you just said is very insightful; I didn’t consider the part about inflicting pain for the fun of it. Why don’t you stay with me and Stan so you’re not alone at night? I remember hearing of another park murder a couple months ago involving a young woman. Suddenly becoming aware of the content of her stream of consciousness banter, Charlotte quickly added, Of course, the murders may be unrelated.

Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll be OK. I have a high-tech security system and a handgun, and even though Marcus may not fight off intruders, he’s good company.

Charlotte grinned. If you change your mind, the invitation is open to both of you.

Jillian looked at the gray flagstones under her feet. I just realized you redid the patio, and it’s much larger than the old one.

Stan’s carpentry skills come in handy. Are you sure I can’t get you another cup of coffee?

No, I’m good.

That Detective Carpenter is a conceited jerk. Did you notice how he strutted? He was downright rude and seemed mad about something.

On the walk back to the entrance gate, he asked if I lived alone and offered to stop by and check on me. On the surface that sounds reasonable, but then he added that we could spend time together and see what happens. And the way he looked at me when he offered his services was repulsive.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. What did you say?

I said it wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t like my answer and acted surly after that.

I’m glad you set him straight. He must have an enormous ego to think you’d give him a second glance.

Jillian glanced at her wristwatch. I need to pick up a couple items from the market. Want to come along, and we can eat lunch in the village afterward? Staying busy may keep our minds off what we saw this morning.

It’s enough to give anyone nightmares. I’d offer to drive, but Stan took my car to the dealership yesterday. Something about the transmission making a noise when switching gears.

I’ll go get my car and come back.

Let me get my purse, and I’ll walk with you.

3

Special Agent Mike Reynolds stood in line at the airport, waiting to board his flight. People immediately noticed his stature, well over six feet, and his air of authority. He was ruggedly handsome with blue eyes, coal dark hair, and a small cleft in his chin. At age twenty-four, he’d become an FBI agent, and eight years later, remained a bachelor, totally focused on his career. Solving cases left little time for romantic relationships, and he hadn’t found a woman who held his interest for long.

He was investigating the Crystal Lake homicide and another park murder that occurred two months before. Based on the similarities of the crime scenes, the FBI determined they were dealing with a serial killer.

4

Sheriff Vern Cooper swiveled his chair, and ignoring the squeak, continued sorting the stack of mail piling up on his desk. His round cherubic face and dimples made him appear younger than his fifty years, and for the most part, he was easygoing, but could be assertive when necessary. He looked up from his