Queen of Shadow Bay

By Stephanie M. Freeman

Not all monsters are born, some are made.

Killing Carpathia was the first mistake. Informing her niece made it worse. Durabia meant a fresh start for Raye Bennett. One phone call destroyed all of that. Returning to American soil could send her back to prison for the rest of her life. Attending the funeral of a family member may be deadlier. Heaven and Hell change places in this romantic thriller where the poison is sweeter than the wine.

ABOUT THE QUEENS OF THE CASTLE SERIES
Each Queen book is a standalone, NO cliffhangers

USA TODAY, and National Bestselling Authors have created a world where women can—and will have it all—love, family, career, and leave a legacy while overcoming generational challenges.

These powerful women, brought together for a higher purpose, change lives by providing safety for those who cannot protect themselves; care for those from tragic backgrounds, and make an impact on their families, communities, and the world at large.

The Kings laid the foundation; the Knights created a bridge of hope between continents; but the Queens will change the world.

Book 1–Queen of Lahaina
Book 2–Queen of Shadow Bay
Book 3–Queen of North Shore
Book 4–Queen of Belize
Book 5–Queen of Kingston
Book 6–Queen of Cambridge
Book 7–Queen of Wilmette
Book 8—Queen of Curaçao
Book 9– Queen of Bahia

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadowlilly Publications, LLC
• Release date: Jan 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736798539

Stephanie M. Freeman

Stephanie M. Freeman-is a preeminent Author whose professional writing career began back in 2012 when her first, Romantic Suspense Novel, Necessary Evil was published by Crimson Romance. Since then, she has explored different writing genres and amassed a loyal group of fans who eagerly await her latest releases. She also received critical acclaim for 2 books written under her pen name, Aracyne Kelly. With numerous bestsellers and multiple five-star reviews of her work, Stephanie M. Freeman continues to push literary boundaries.

Book preview

Queen of Shadow Bay

QUEEN OF SHADOW BAY

BOOK 2 OF THE QUEENS OF THE CASTLE SERIES

STEPHANIE M. FREEMAN

Shadowlilly Publications

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Queens of the Castle Series

Necessary Evil

Unfinished Business

Nature of the Beast

Season of the Blood

Queen of Lahaina

About the Author

Knight of Bronzeville

The Days of Pleasure Series

Queen of Shadow Bay by Stephanie M. Freeman

Copyright ©2021

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ISBN 9781736798539

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Shadowlilly Publications

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in any manner whatsoever or by any means distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact Stephanie M. Freeman at [e-mail] or at www.stephaniemfreemanauthor.com

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Cover Designed by JL Woodson: www.woodsoncreative studio.com

Interior Designed by Lissa Woodson: www.Naleghnakai.com

Editors: Naleighna Kai and Kelsie Maxwell

Betas: Debra Mitchell, Christine Pauls, Marie McKenzie, Karen D. Bradley, and Dr. Vanessa Howard

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We are only as good as the company we keep. Throughout the substantial edits and ultimate rebirth of this book, I had excellent company (and midwives). Thank you Naleighna Kai for all that you do today and every day. Special thanks to J.L Woodson for the awesome book cover! And last but not least, to my Editors and Beta Readers Naleighna Kai, Debra Mitchell, Christine Pauls, Karen D, Bradley, Marie L. McKenzie, and Dr. Vanessa Howard. Thank you for your sharp eyes, attention to detail and your voracious appetites for reading!

To write is human, to edit is divine

Stephen King

Special thanks to Naleighna Kai for finding me among an ocean of voices and taking the chance each and every day. Thank you for your wisdom and your grace. Thank you for holding on to my dreams and reminding me of the lyrics to the song of my soul when I forget.

Thank You J. L. Woodson for building a masterpiece for the words falling from my pen.

For Dolores Ann Wilkes Freeman

With every breath I take and every book I write, I’m keeping my word.

For my brother Theodore L. Freeman

Still waters run deep.

For Tribe

Some families are birth made. Others are earth made.

You have my heart.

‘If you want to go fast go alone. If you want to go far go together.’

~African Proverb

I travel with my tribe. 😊

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less and a cleaner, better stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.

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― Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Queens of the Castle Series

Necessary Evil

Unfinished Business

Nature of the Beast

Season of the Blood

Queen of Lahaina

About the Author

Knight of Bronzeville

The Days of Pleasure Series

CHAPTER ONE

Smothering his wife was easier than watching her sleep. The bovine, simpering way she scampered after him was cute in the beginning. Her serving him hand and foot even tickled his dick once. Just. Once. Now her ‘Yes, Baby. Whatever you say Honey Man’ made his skin crawl.

Gerald Newland sat his keys in the small wooden bowl his wife lovingly placed on the table near the staircase. The gorge burning the back of his throat intensified at the prospect of lying down next to his dearly beloved. He’d perfected the skill of not flinching when she touched him, but even that was beginning to fray. He glanced at their wedding portrait on the wall and admired the smug look on his face.

Carpathia Carrie Newland stood before a church filled with all her rotting post-menopausal friends wearing a cream-colored pants suit and a colorful scarf that reminded him of cheap stained glass. The bouquet she carried was little more than a Styrofoam ball with a stick shoved up its ass. The hand crocheted pink and white flowers stuck to it matched the one in her platinum grey wig she wore with the baby hair. What old prune had baby hair? Most of that shit ran to the back of their heads by the time they hit fifty.

Why the old biddies insisted on telling Carrie she looked like an angel was beyond him. Anyone with beer goggles could tell the woman was no prize.

A little make up or paint makes even an ugly one what she ain’t, he whispered before kicking off his shoes and heading upstairs.

But that stock portfolio mmmm hmmm, that thing alone put all the pretty little bitches to shame. The old girl was smart with her money and that was a plus. What Gerald couldn’t run through, he damn sure intended to spend on anything and anyone that pleased him. The list included his stepdaughter Pamela from his first marriage or was it the third? He’d lost count over the years.

Giving the girl his name was a stroke of genius. On paper, Gerald was the doting father who adopted her after the tragic deaths of her mother and brother. The first time he gave Pamela one of his ‘special kisses’ she was twelve. By eighteen he knew her well enough to ensure her silence under the twin sins of love and loyalty. Pamela Chiffon Newland would do for a few more miles and then he’d toss her on the pile with the others, and there were so many others.

Why worry about notches on a belt when a wife and a mistress made for better suspenders. Carrie adored suspenders and anything else she thought would please him. Yes, generous to a fault. Of course, she’d share. What woman wanted to be seen with a raggedy assed man on her arm? Certainly not his lawful wedded bride.

Financing the lifestyle he deserved required money. Each woman he married had enough to tide him over. Hell, he was better than a dousing stick only instead of water, Gerald found rich desperately lonely women still pining for a happily ever after as if singlehood was a cancer. And he was there, to listen and pray and all the other little things the poor frumps wanted. Choosing carefully was a must.

Grown children or doting relatives were complications he had neither the time nor patience for. Most were only concerned with ensuring that their names were on the will. Few stayed for the repast. Once the funeral was over and the maggots began to dine beneath the flowers, they descended on the dead relative’s home to collect whatever could be sold.

Few if any, made time to visit. Those relatives that did, normally came with a sob story or a grandchild or four that they pimped out for special occasions like birthdays Easter, and Christmas. Built in babysitters were best. Threat was always implied. Give me what I want, or you’ll never see them again. Gerald couldn’t help but laugh at some of the women in the church sporting high priced cellphones that never rung.

Carrie wasn’t easy or desperate; another grace Gerald admired. Actions were her sex toy. A few well-placed compliments wet the sandpaper between her thighs more than a kiss on purpose. Staying behind to help her wash dishes after church services got him to first base. Volunteering to carry two armfuls of card table chairs. Hell, that was flirting. Helping that pissy old bat Cleotha Jean Hemphill to her chair was foreplay.

And when he cried, oh how Gerald cried when the sermons were on fire. Quite a few of Carrie’s friends hurried to offer their wrinkled, lip stick stained handkerchiefs. The pills rattling in their handbags reminded him of his first wife’s bones shifting around in the box they gave him after the cremation. The last time he laid eyes on that thing was when he moved it to the attic in Carrie’s Tudor styled town home at the end of Sycamore Road.

Seventeen years of wedded bliss was long enough. The insurance policies were mature now. Going underground put the right amount of space between the last marriage and law enforcement. The time had come to render his masterpiece to ashes because the Sagon and the Caster Plant seeds were taking too long.

It would be quick and painless. He owed her that grace.

He snagged the pillow from the yellow high back chair stationed at the top of the stairs and tried not to gag as the musk perfume she bathed in saturated the air around him.

Hey Honey Man? You want me to fix you a little something to eat? Carrie struggled to sit up and put a hand on the touch lamp on the nightstand. Two bottles of her night meds fell on the floor.

Gerald let the purple crushed velvet pillow with its lace edge slide silently to the floor just inside the door. He sank down on the edge of the bed and took Carrie’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. I’m sorry I woke you, my love. I was hoping to catch you asleep. You look so cute sucking on your bottom lip. He summoned a smile as she reached for his hand.

Hush now silly. She hid a smile behind one of her meaty hands while extending the other, It’s no trouble at all. Let me wash my face and hands and brush my teeth, she patted his thigh and waddled off to the bathroom.

Carrie planned her funeral down to the smallest detail including what hymn would be played as they lowered the lid on her casket. She even made sure to get a plot right next to hers for when his time came. If nothing else his wife was thoughtful that way; always thinking and making provisions and plans.

Cremation wasn’t an option, unfortunately. When Christ returned for the church, Carrie made it clear to anyone who would listen that her Lord and Savior wouldn’t be searching for ashes cast into the wind or some water way. He thought of the Castor Plants and Sagon he so carefully cultivated in his garden back near the shed.

Patience wasn’t his strong suit. That whole sermon on the fruit being the last to grow on the tree or the vine made him seethe. If the soil was right, the first harvest would have been enough to saturate her food and clothing, but the soil was dry and sandy that made it difficult to take seed. By the time it had, winter was settling in and what few seedlings he gleaned weren’t nearly enough to kill her.

Gerald had places to be and people to do. Waiting was for long suffering dolts with no imagination. His flight to anonymity would be boarding soon. No, smothering was best. No screams or pleas to infect him with mercy. With enough menthol under his nose if her bowels cut loose, he would still be safe so long as she was laying down.

How hungry are you, Gerald? Her voice faded into the distance as her slippers scraped against each step on her way downstairs. Some biscuits and sausage gravy might be nice. My niece Bobbi Raye used to love my sausage gravy.

Gerald sat up on the side of the bed and stared at the stale blue morning peeking through the curtains. He’d forgotten about the niece. No one, not even Carrie’s friends talked about the girl as if speaking her name summoned the woman like an urban legend.

The only thing Carrie did say about her niece gave him a chill. He never forgot the weird smile that deepened the laugh lines on her haggard face. The strange mixture of pride and fear made him shudder.

‘Not all monsters are born. My niece was made.’

Gerald shrugged off the chill as her voice floated across the stale cold smell of morning. Honey man? you didn’t fall asleep, did you? Did you hear me? How hungry are you? she repeated.

Gerald, he stretched out on the bed and stared at the bit of wallpaper curling in the corner Starving, he mumbled closing his eyes. Absolutely famished.

CHAPTER TWO

Three Weeks Later

The world is yours and you still prefer the Durabian sun to anyone. Nikki’s words haunted Raye as she left the main dining room in the palace.

People yammered on about self-care and how taking time to check in with yourself was paramount. It just so happened that Roberta Bobbi Raye Bennett’s idea of self-care was scheduled at the same time every day as the sun rose in the evening when it sunk beneath the horizon. Rich purples and indigoes painted the sky above as the sun died and the moon made its appearance before holding court swathed in a blue-black blanket of stars.

Normally, the mournful wail of a violin over a wicked beat and the rich complicated scents of patchouli and jasmine on the night air, was enough to take the edge off. The moon with its pale lidless eye bathed the night in an eerie glow that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Raye resorted to her favorite yoga pose, the Tadasana to focus her energy as she drew sustenance from her surroundings. Another burst of adrenaline washed through her in a sickening wave. The quickening in her spirit like bubbles underwater rippled beneath her skin. And then a cramp much like labor threaten to drag Raye to her knees.

You made this mess; you’ll clean it before I drive you to the hospital. Have you any idea how much these towels cost?

The words rang so clear in Raye’s head that she clawed at the earbud wedged in her ear. She glanced over her shoulder to see the soft yellow candlelight illuminate the billowing curtains concealing the entrance leading back to the festivities. The butterflies in her stomach were slowly replaced by eagle’s wings thumping the air at the prospect of giving a speech. The whole idea of standing in front of a group of people doing anything other than fading into the scenery pasted the crisp white shirt she wore to her back. Raye cast a longing look back at the doors and shook it off.

The cloying fragrance of powdered sugar, cinnamon and pastry dough added a new scent to the night. Raye glanced at the glass flame shaped sculpture with her name engraved in the gold plaque she tucked in the planter.

Bobbi Raye Bennett Outstanding Humanitarian Service Award

‘For her ongoing efforts to combat world hunger and for making an extraordinary difference in the lives of women and girls.’

She took another deep breath of the incense burning in small ornate containers and let the smell douse her nerve endings in another round of bliss. The evening was rigged. Raye was just settling in to the second course when Sheikha Ellena left the throne and came to where Raye was sitting.

As she delivered the speech, Raye couldn’t help but look around at the others seated at her table. Nikki’s green eyes glistened in the candlelight as a mixture of lust and pride clouded her face. Mandy and her husband, Chaz Maharaj were the main reason for Raye even being in the county instead of a prison waiting for the next shiv fight or a heart attack to find her in the shower room. Chaz had a slightly amused look on his face while Mandy’s eyes glistened with tears and a pride that rocked Raye to the core.

She took the trophy and