Wine and Spirits

By Nancy Kay

Urban Legends fascinate Carena McBride, but when four women who share this fascination are brutally murdered, state police Corporal Zac Ramsey fears Cara will be number five.

Carena McBride’s life shatters when her husband is killed in the line of duty. She vows never to entrust her fragile heart to a law enforcement hero again and after five turbulent years alone, lured by the prospect of a new beginning, Carina returns to her hometown.

A failed marriage convinced State Police Corporal Zac Ramsey he's not good husband material and a promotion offers a welcome distraction. Zac is determined to put his career first... until he encounters Carena. Despite Zac's marriage phobia and Cara's vow, their lives become entangled.

The lady becomes more than a rung on Zac’s career ladder, and Carina finds happiness she feared forever lost. While Zac investigates murders, Cara pursues a project documenting weird phenomenon until the corporal discovers four victims of recent brutal murders share Cara’s fascination with local Urban Legends. Alarmed Cara’s project may trigger a demented killer’s fury, more than duty drives Zac as he scrambles to keep Carina alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Kay
• Release date: Dec 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005457761

Nancy Kay

Nancy Kay resides near Lake Erie in Western Pennsylvania with her husband, a former member of the Marines and the Pennsylvania State Police Department who provides valuable insight for her stories. Nancy is a long time member of Romance Writers of America. Her stories are set in small towns and inland communities scattered along the shores of the Great Lakes. They focus on romance, intertwined with the love of hearth, home and family, yet sprinkled with suspense, danger and intrigue. Learn more about Nancy at www.nancykayauthor.com. check her out on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Nancy-Kay-140764572706374/?ref=bookmarks and see what Nancy blogs about at: https://nancykayauthor.blogspot.com/

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~ Copyright ~

Wine and Spirits

© Nancy Kay, 2020

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events is coincidental.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

www.agedtoperfectionpublishing.com

Issued in the United States of America

Cover Design ~ Taria Reed

Book Format ~ KMD Web Designs

~ Other Books By Nancy Kay ~

Deadly Triad

Book One: Deadly Reflection

Book Two: Deadly Revenge

Book Three: Deadly Encounter

Other Books

Sweet Deception

Return to Intermezzo

Shattered Sunset Promises

Not Even A Moose

~ Dedication & Acknowledgment ~

Research enables a writer to create authentic stories by providing details, enhancing fiction, and feeding an author’s imagination. I dedicate Wine & Spirits to all who helped me bring this story to life, but four in particular stand out. Dr. Donald Eno, DVM for his help regarding animal injuries, Pennsylvania State Trooper, Candy Hendricks Brundage for her input and valuable suggestions, Girard Pennsylvania’s Chief of Police, Nick Van Damia for taking time to talk with me, and Stephanie Wincik, author of two enlightening books containing Urban Legends of Erie County Pennsylvania.

~ Chapter One ~

June 2008

Near Hershey, Pennsylvania

Fella plopped down on his fat little butt and tilted his head. Strands of green yarn dangled from the pup’s mouth. His tongue lolled out, a foolish doggy grin that revealed more colorful yarn wedged between tiny teeth.

Oh, no. Not my new throw rug. Carena McBride groaned and closed her eyes. She sighed, opened her eyes, and knelt, gritting her teeth and struggling to remain calm.

Come, Fella. Come on. Good dog, she crooned. You deceptive little spawn of the devil.

His tail swept the floor like a sideways metronome, and pure delight spilled from his snapping brown eyes. He lunged, launching his compact body at Carena, and plowed into her.

She landed on her backside, and her uncontrolled laughter spurred him into wild, ecstatic wiggles. She rolled aside, averting her face to escape his loving assault, yet he managed to bathe her cheeks with rapid licks.

She gripped his midsection and held him away. As she attempted to regain her balance and stand, the melodic chime of her front door bell echoed through the foyer.

Perfect. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so who the heck was ringing her bell at two in the afternoon? Jack was on duty till three, and the drive from the state police barracks took her husband about twenty minutes. Besides, why would Jack be ringing the doorbell?

She scrambled to her feet and, spying Fella’s bedraggled tennis ball, scooped it up, and tossed it down the hallway. Fella’s greeting etiquette needed work, so better to distract the little guy. The leggy pup slipped and slid on hardwood floor in frantic pursuit.

Cara straightened her disheveled clothes and finger combed her hair. With one hand on the doorknob, she shot a quick glance out one of the glass panels flanking the door.

Her heart jumped.

Jack’s platoon sergeant, Charley Baxter, waited on her stoop. Jack and Charley had been friends long before Charley made rank, and it wasn’t unusual for him to stop by. Although, she noted, stopping by in full uniform wasn’t the norm.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she swung the door open. She smiled, expecting him to smile in return.

Hoping, praying, he would.

Anxious seconds ticked away, and her eyes met those of a trooper standing behind and to the sergeant’s right. She hadn’t noticed him until she’d opened the door, and for a long moment she stared into bluer than blue eyes before shifting her gaze back to Charley.

Sergeant Baxter, what... Words lodged in her throat when his strong hands took ahold of her shoulders. She shook head. No, she whispered.

There’s been an accident, Carena. He eased her back into the foyer. The blue-eyed trooper followed, removing his hat as he stepped inside.

An accident?

Cara took a deep breath. Okay, an accident. People survived accidents. She touched one of the strong hands gripping her shoulder. Her lips quivered, and tears stung her eyes. Just let me secure the pup. Where...what hospital?

Before he could respond, Fella slid on the polished floor and crashed into her. If the sergeant hadn’t been holding her she would have gone down. Moving fast and smooth, the young trooper squatted down and grabbed Fella’s collar. Hey there, little guy.

Fella went ecstatic.

Zac, could you hold on to him a moment? Sergeant Baxter eased Cara to one side, urging her toward the adjoining room.

The trooper looked up. What’s his name ma’am?

Fella. His name’s Fella. Her words came out raspy and strained.

Why couldn’t she breathe?

This is Trooper Ramsey, Carena. Let him take care of Fella while we talk.

Charley slid one arm around her waist and guided her to the loveseat by the front window. The antique clock on the bookcase in the corner struck the quarter hour.

The clock had been a gift from Jack on their second wedding anniversary and came with a quaint, odd-shaped key. She’d wound it that morning after Jack had left for work.

Jack’s shift ended at three. Not long. If she could make it till then, her world would settle and get back to normal.

The sergeant sat and pulled her down beside him. He took her hands in his. Fine lines around his eyes deepened when he smiled, but his smile was sad, and tired, and somehow Carena knew Jack’s shift had already ended.

Her palms grew damp within his grip, and she began to shake.

Nearby, Fella’s paws tapped on hardwood as he played with his newfound friend. The soft rumble of the blue-eyed trooper’s voice was strangely soothing as he diverted the pup’s attention, and she waited for the man gripping her hands to speak.

Sergeant Baxter’s words filtered through pain that squeezed her heart, her very soul, like a vice. Jack had followed procedure, waiting for backup as the convenience store robbery went down. He’d held his position, monitoring the situation.

Until a young boy wheeled up, dropped his bike, and dashed into the store.

The bullet missed the boy, a ten-year-old from up the street the sergeant added, but Jack wasn’t so lucky. He’d raced after the kid and shoved him aside, but the man holding a gun on the elderly clerk behind the counter got off two shots.

The first one hit Jack; the second took down the old man.

Cara clutched the sergeant’s hands tighter. His vest. Jack always wears his vest.

He released one of her trembling hands and placed his on her shoulder again. He squeezed gently. The round caught him in the side, honey. It slid right under his vest and lodged in his chest.

In his heart.

He hadn’t said the words, but she knew, and her heart shattered.

Like slow moving molasses the afternoon dragged on. At some point the trooper who’d arrived with Sergeant Baxter departed and Cara lured Fella outside. She needed air and time alone to absorb the painful reality.

Jack had installed a fence that encompassed the entire back yard when they’d adopted Fella, creating a perfect place for him to run and play. She checked the pup’s water, filled his bowl with puppy chow.

Routine things. Familiar tasks to occupy her mind and keep her from thinking, or feeling, or running away screaming how unfair it was that a man had killed two people for seventy-two dollars and change and would spend the rest of his life in prison.

Alive.

Afternoon slid toward evening, and more people arrived. Troopers coming off shift drifted in, offering nothing more than their presence. Their wives showed up baring food, making coffee, giving gentle hugs.

Tears flowed, but Carena’s tears remained locked inside.

Her throat ached, her hands shook, and she sipped tea that Lil Baxter, the sergeant’s wife, offered. Nausea came in waves, making her weak and light headed. Her eyes burned, but remained dry.

They encouraged her to try and rest, to get some sleep. Alone at last, she gripped Jack’s ragged PSP sweatshirt and curled into the oversized chair in their bedroom. Exhaustion won out, and with Fella curled at her feet, she fell into restless, fitful sleep.

The next day her father and his wife Laetitia arrived, and her tears finally came. Locked in James Flynn’s embrace, she sobbed until there was nothing left.

Cara had been ten years old when her mother walked out. Shelly Flynn left them without a backward glance, and her dad struggled with the pitfalls of raising a young daughter alone and starting a new business.

Somehow, he’d managed, and a few years later Laetitia came into their lives. He married Tish, who proved to be more of a mother than Cara’s birth mother had ever been. With her at his side, James Flynn’s lifelong dream became a huge success. Dubbed Flynn Manor, a run-down, rambling, old mansion had become a first-class restaurant.

Now, with her head resting on her dad’s shoulder, Cara blotted her eyes with the tissue Tish gently tucked into her hand. She reached out and laid her hand on Tish’s soft cheek. Thank you. Thank you both, she repeated, tightening her arms around her father. Though his hair was mostly gray now, and softening around his mid-section gave beneath her gentle squeeze, hard work kept him in shape.

Tish smoothed Cara’s hair, tucking stray strands behind one ear. We’re here for you as long as you need us.

Cara’s eyes filled again. God, how many tears did she have left? What will I do without him?

Her dad released her and she slid into her stepmother’s open arms. You’ll do what’s best for you, Cara. We’ll be there for you. Your friends will be there for you. She leaned back, gesturing with an outstretched hand. Cara looked around.

Her little kitchen, the adjoining hall, and open front room were filled with people. The men Jack worked with and their wives had been there on a rotating basis ever since Sergeant Baxter had come to her front door. They weren’t crowding her, or telling her what to do or how to cope.

They were just...there. Like Tish and her dad, they’d do whatever she asked.

Her gaze shifted to the sliding glass door that led to the back yard. Fella peered through the screen, his ears at half mast, his eyes fixed on her. She heaved a deep, shuddering sigh.

It was wrong to wish your life away, but she suspected only time would heal the raw emptiness inside her. Fella would grow up, the troopers surrounding her would make rank, move on, move away.

Would she stay here? Could she live alone in the house they’d saved for and bought together? Time would decide, and right now Cara wished it would leap ahead so the healing could begin.

~ Chapter Two ~

June 2013

Girard, Pennsylvania

Coincidence? Corporal Zac Ramsey didn’t think so. One time, maybe. Twice, a long shot. But three dead bodies, each one found on deserted roads in the middle of nowhere, no way in hell were they not connected.

Zac climbed out of the unmarked state car. Dancing strobe lights lit up a sky ripe with orange sunset. On his shoulder, what Zac called a trooper’s invisible partner danced, too. A familiar two-step, one that set off a sixth sense which eighteen years on The Pennsylvania State Police, PSP, had honed razor sharp.

The past five of those eighteen he’d spent as part of Troop E’s Crime Unit. The move from patrol to the crime unit required a move from central Pennsylvania, where he’d grown up, to Girard, a small, laid back community just west of Erie. The winters were brutal, but the rest of the year suited him. Fond memories of summer vacations spent visiting his aunt and uncle who had lived near Lake Erie just outside Girard made the decision an easy one.

He flicked a glance north toward the lake. Colors blazed and streaked across the horizon as the sun sank low. Deep shadows crept across the back-country road before him. A thick hedge covered with clusters of white flowers bordered the north berm, and their sweet scent filled the air.

Emergency vehicles lined both sides of the road, and as he approached a cordoned off area in the right-hand lane, the pale, lifeless body of a woman stood out in stark contrast to the dark pavement.

Evening, Corporal. A uniformed trooper lifted the crime scene tape and Zac ducked beneath it.

Yankosky. Zac nodded, and paused to survey the scene.

Gary Yankosky hitched his belt and huffed out a rough breath. Hell of a way to go.

Zac angled his head to study the fidgeting trooper. Gary was an easy three to four inches shorter than Zac, a couple years younger, too. The belt he’d adjusted resettled below a slight paunch, something several of the guys found it necessary to point out with regularity.

How did she go, Yank?

Gary shook his head. I’m just guessing, Corp, but... He shifted closer and shot a quick glance around. This is the third time a body has turned up on a back road in the middle of nowhere.

I’m aware of that. The first was back in April.

Gary nodded. Then it was close to six weeks, almost the end of May, until the second one turned up. He tapped his thumb to his chest. I found that one, the second one, he clarified. I damn near ran over the corpse that night. Scared the shit outta me, but that’s why I have a pretty good idea about what happened. This one, he jerked his head toward the body, this one looks the same.

Zac raised his brow, giving Gary a hard look. And you’ve examined the body, determined manner of death?

No, no, of course not. He grinned and shot Zac a sly wink. That’s for you ‘crime guys’ and the coroner to say. I helped string the tape around this scene, and like the last one, she looks like someone took a baseball bat, maybe a hammer, to her. I’m no expert, but... Gary gave a quick, nervous shrug. A bashed in head is a bashed in head.

Zac shifted his gaze to the crumpled body. Initially he’d not noticed the damage. Then a light lit the scene, and upon closer scrutiny he saw exactly what Trooper Yankosky meant. When he turned back to face Gary, the trooper’s cocky grin had faded.

Paul Jordan, a trooper in the crime unit, stood just outside the circle of light spotlighting the victim. Hands shoved into the pockets of rumpled suit trousers, he glanced up when Zac approached.

The air changed once he moved away from the sweet-smelling bush. Asphalt, still warm from the sun, gave off a heavy tar-like smell accompanied by an underlying raw smell, a sharp reminder of why he was there.

Hey, Zac. Do you think this is it?

Zac frowned.

You know what they say, crap happens in threes, Paul explained. This is number three. Maybe our slugger is done bashing in women’s heads.

Zac gave a noncommittal grunt, and they waited as the guy from R&I took photos of the body and surrounding area from several angles. Zac asked the coroner to hold off removing the body until he could take a closer look.

They’ll need to use dental records, Paul remarked. He grimaced, and squatted down next the woman. I’d say she was in her late twenty’s to early thirties judging from the body. Not a bad set on her.

Christ, Jordan. Could you be any more damn crude?

Paul glanced up. What the hell, she can’t hear me.

Shaking his head, Zac circled the body, leaning down occasionally, making mental notes he’d explore further once the photos they’d taken were blown up and available. He straightened and pulled out a notepad. Younger guys used electronic devices to take notes. Zac still preferred a pen and a good ol’ paper notepad.

This wasn’t the murder scene. The body was pale, sheet white, and there was no sign of congealed blood under or around her. His guess, she’d been dumped here after the fact.

You come to the same conclusion? Paul stood, tapping a nervous hand on his thigh.

Zac looked up from his notes. That this is a dump site, and not the murder scene?

Paul met his gaze and gave a slow, affirmative nod.

Same as the first two, Zac said, and tucked his notebook away.

As they prepared to remove the body, Zac noticed that even though they’d closed the road for over an hour there was no line of traffic in either direction, testimony to the remoteness of this particular stretch. If his memory was correct, the first two victims had been left in similar locations.

Lonely, seldom used two lane county roads crisscrossed Erie County, roads where long stretches of time passed between vehicles. Three bodies. Each killed in what appeared to be a similar method and dumped in locations that almost guaranteed no witnesses.

Coincidence? Corporal Zachery Ramsey didn’t think so.

Carena McBride detoured from her usual route, blocked by a line of emergency flares and directed to an alternate approach by men wearing reflective vests. As she neared the shaded lane leading to her temporary home, flashing emergency lights visible in her rearview mirror lit up the night sky.

Must be something big going on.

She turned by a cluster of old maples and followed the narrow, winding driveway that led to the aging two-story farmhouse she’d rented for the summer. The porch light created a welcoming circle of light as she approached, and where a chain link fence met the corner of the house, her headlights revealed two glowing eyes peering through the fence.

The enclosure was one of the reasons she’d chosen this place. It was four feet high and encircled a good portion of the back yard. A house with a fenced yard was a lucky find, and one that saved her the expense of having a place built for Fella. The five-year-old St. Bernard German Shepard mix tipped the scale at eighty-five pounds, and he needed room to run. He’d never been tied, never been kept in a kennel.

As she rolled to a stop Fella raced back and forth behind the chain link. He stopped, then rose and braced his front paws against the fence, waiting as she cut the engine and opened her door.

Hey, big guy. Ya miss me? She grabbed the grocery bag from the front seat and, hooking her handbag over one shoulder, slid out and shut the door.

Though muffled by trees and thick foliage, she still heard sirens in the distance. She paused beside the fence and gave Fella’s soft ears a gentle rub. A chilly night breeze ruffled the dog’s silken coat and stirred sweet smells. The spring peepers were silent tonight, a sure sign that summer was knocking at nature’s door.

Once inside, she locked the door behind her and let Fella in through the side door. He sat and accepted the Milk-bone she fished from the big jar on the counter. He’d adapted better than expected since their move from center state. The separation pain had been all hers when they’d closed the deal on the house.

She glanced around. The old farmhouse had started to grow on her, though, and maybe she’d take advantage of the rent to buy option. The place was convenient, only a short drive from Girard and Flynn Manor.

Her stepmother had been coaxing for over a year for Carena to move from Hershey back to Girard and help her expand Flynn Manor. Not that she needed help. Tish Flynn was one of the strongest women Cara knew. She loved and respected her father’s second wife. Lord knows the first one -- Cara’s mother -- was no prize.

Since Jack’s untimely death she’d only seen her birth mother a handful of times. Shelly had remarried and moved to upstate New York. To Cara she fell into the category of distant relative. Someone you knew existed, but seldom heard from or had the urge to contact.

Yet her stepmother, Tish, had been there for painful anniversaries and milestones Cara had faced after losing Jack. Her heart broke in a million ragged pieces when he’d been killed on the job, and the rock solid, cheerful woman had made the difficult journey bearable for her.

Strange she’d think about Jack tonight, and doing so brought on a surge of guilt because over the past five years memories of him had faded. She wasn’t even aware it was happening until one day she realized she’d quit listening for his voice and the jaunty sound of his off-key whistle.

Fella whined, thumping his tail on the wood plank floor. She crouched and took his massive head between her hands.

You and me, Fella. It’s you and me now, and we’re going to do all right. Tish was there for me, and now with Dad gone, too, we’ll be there for her.

They’d lost her father to an unexpected heart attack four years after losing Jack, and it was after his death she’d first considered uprooting and moving back to where she’d grown up. Now she’d be there to help Tish sustain the dream she and Cara’s dad had envisioned for Flynn Manor.

Cara pushed to her feet, and Fella trotted into the great room off the kitchen. He circled several times on a ratty looking throw rug in front of a stone fireplace, and then flopped down with a grunt. Rolling onto his side he stretched his long legs and heaved a heavy sigh.

Well, guess I’m not very stimulating company. Cara stepped to the sink to wash her hands. While drying them, she eyed a stack of folders on a desk tucked into the corner. The folders contained information for a project she’d started years ago for a class when she was in college.

She picked up a heavy notebook and flipped it open to the first page. Urban Legends - Real or Imagined? The title was centered on the first page. She’d planned to continue the research she’d done after she graduated. Her report had only scratched the surface about weird, unusual things that had supposedly happened in and around Girard. Most events were centered in the immediate region, but the folders contained bits and pieces of lore stretching east into New York State and south of the lakeshore. Her plan had been to follow up and maybe write a book someday when time allowed.

Her plan got sidetracked, though, when she took a job in Harrisburg and consequently met Jack. After her dad died, she’d found the folders and old news clippings while helping Tish go through stored boxes. Now the prospect of delving into the project was tempting, and to be honest, it was the first thing in a long time that sparked her interest.

She settled into a high-backed fireside chair and opened the top folder. A newspaper clipping lay on top, and while Fella snored softly nearby, Cara refreshed her memory about The Devil’s Backbone.

~ Chapter Three ~

Recharged and eager to start the day, Cara turned onto the curving drive that led to Flynn Manor. Despite poring over long forgotten documents until past midnight, she’d risen with the sun and accompanied by a willing Fella, had run three miles. After a quick shower and some mango yogurt with sliced banana, she faced the day ahead eager to get on with her life.

The breakfast rush at the Manor was over, as indicated by the presence of two lone cars in the parking lot. Tall oak trees flanked the stately, two story brick building, and a winding path circled from the parking area past lush, sweet-smelling lilacs. A simple trellis covered with purple and blue clematis dressed the side of the building.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she followed the winding walkway to the back