Muraille Island Read online

  Muraille Island

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Muraille Island (Whispering Pines, #2)

  DEDICATION

  Muraille Island

  Mavis Applewater

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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

  CHAPTER 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  EPILOGUE

  About the author

  ALSO AVAILABLE FROM WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON PRESS

  DEDICATION

  As always this is for Heather

  ALSO WRITTEN BY Mavis Applewater AND

  AVAILABLE FROM Wednesday Afternoon Press:

  ❖ Whispering Pines

  ❖ Finding My Way

  ❖ That Thursday Afternoon

  ❖ Tempus Fugit

  ❖ The Brass Ring

  ❖ Checkmate

  ❖ Everlasting

  www.yomavis.com

  Muraille Island

  Wednesday Afternoon Press

  By

  Mavis Applewater

  NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be

  aware that it is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and

  destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher

  has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, locales and events are either

  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Muraille Island

  Copyright © 2018 by Mavis Applewater

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in

  any manner whatsoever without written permission from the

  publisher,

  save for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover design by Sandy Castle

  Editor S. Jeffery

  A Wednesday Afternoon Press Book

  Published by Wednesday Afternoon Press

  Boston, MA. USA

  www.yomavis.com

  ISBN: 13: 978-1722124656

  10: 1722124652

  First Edition, October, 2018

  Printed in the United States of America and in the United Kingdom

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There are always so many people to thank. For this I need to thank the ladies at Blue Feather Books who believed in Whispering Pines. Shawn and Faith have always been good to me ever since the first short story won the Bards Village Halloween Challenge. I would also like to thank Roselle Graskey for generously donating to the GCLS scholarship fund to be a character in this book. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my loving wife Heather. For reasons I fail to understand she not only puts up with my shenanigans but encourages them as well.

  Prologue

  Muraille Island off the coast of Maine

  September 30, 1952

  Temperance looked out at the dark ocean. The surf pounded against the shore. She loved the island and the way its quietness has always centered her. At least it used to quiet her. Now it only seemed to fill her with turmoil.

  “What has changed?” She questioned the darkness.

  “You know.”

  She wasn’t surprised to hear Ella answering her question. She had felt the younger woman’s presence long before she spoke.

  “You brought them here,” Ella challenged.

  “The boys?” Temperance laughed. ‘Was that it?’ She silently questioned. She shook her head, dismissing the idea as ludicrous. Clenching her jaw, she felt a sudden order of anger. “Why are you watching me?”

  “You’re standing in the moonlight? Why wouldn’t I take a moment to enjoy the view?”

  Ella’s words were sweet enough. Still Temperance felt the hesitation in her lover’s voice. Like the island, Ella’s lilting voice has always filled her with a sense of peace.

  “Why are you lying to me?” She spat out in a vile tone. She rubbed her brow. Confused as to why she suddenly turned angry.

  “Good night, Temperance.”

  “Running off? I thought you wanted to enjoy the view?” She cringed from the anger that seemed to be consuming her. What had invoked the anger swelling inside of her? It was a beautiful evening. Ella was watching her as she looked out over the majestic seascape. How many times had the same scene played out, each time ending in passion.

  “I’m not running.”

  She could barely hear Ella’s sad voice over the surf.

  “Aren’t you?” She challenged once again, confused as to why she was bitter.

  “Tempe,” Ella slowly began. “I’m not playing this game tonight. God, you haven’t even started drinking yet and you’re already surly. Normally, I need to wait until you’re half way through a bottle of gin to turn nasty. As I’ve said I’m not playing this game tonight. I’ll be in my room. Don’t bother to join me.”

  “My house.”

  “True,” Ella groaned. “I’m not yours. Not anymore. I’ll be on the boat in the morning.”

  “What?” Temperance spun around, stunned by Ella’s announcement. “You’re leaving me?”

  It broke her heart to see Ella so broken. She parted her lips ready to protest and beg if need be. Suddenly, the boys, J and J as she called them, were standing behind Ella. They were hovering in the darkness, whispering, as they always did. She stood there, unable to speak, while the wind whipped her hair against her face. Ella turned and walked away.

  ‘What just happened?’ Her mind screaming, she watched helplessly as Ella disappeared in the darkness. The only the thing she could see clearly was the men huddled together as they whispered, their blond heads nodding up and down.

  Temperance spent the night pacing in her office trying to focus. It proved to be difficult, perhaps it was the gin she wondered. At some point she reclined on the sofa only to pass out. When morning arrived she woke to a grim discovery. Ella had kept her word, taking any and all reminders of herself.

  Temperance searched the entire house from top to bottom and her heart broke when she found no trace of Ella. Her head was pounding from the alcohol and her body ached from sleeping on a sofa that had been hand carved in 1870. At the end of her search, she felt sick, finding only the boys.

  Once again, they were huddled together, lurking in the dark foyer. Two pairs of piercing blue eyes greeted her. They looked positively amused.

  “What?” She barked. They responded with twin smiles.

  Evening arrived and Temperance locked herself in her study, and cracked open a bottle of much needed gin. After she had poured a healthy splash into a crystal tumbler s
he briefly wondered why she had started drinking gin. Cognac, bourbon or a glass of fine wine had always been her favorite. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimmer of silver.

  “Ah, yes that’s when I changed,” she mumbled pouring herself another drink. “The chalice.”

  The boys had brought the chalice to her. They had betrayed their leader by stealing the rare find. They certainly weren’t the refugees in need of safe passage she had been led to believe they were. She knew it had been a ruse the moment she met them.

  Still, for reasons she still failed to understand, she gave them and their prize a safe haven. She should have listened to Ella, who immediately objected. When she ignored Ella’s concerns it marked when things changed.

  “Time to set things right,” she vowed, her mind working quickly as to how she was going to get Ella to return. “First, the boys need to leave,” she promised, pouring yet another drink.

  She paced around the study opening another bottle of gin while working out her plan of action. Since the boys weren’t around she snatched up the chalice, as they called it. Stomping through the woods, she knew where to hide it, only to discover that she was unable to store it in the safest place on the island.

  She carried it back to the house. With each step she listened carefully, fearful of what would happen if she was discovered with their prize.

  She buried it in a safe place, covering it with salt and other items that would fend off the negative energy that had invaded the island. Admitting to herself it wasn’t the best place to hide it, she could only hope that the protection would hold them off long enough for her to clear her mind and her house. Then she would do whatever it took to win Ella back.

  Finished with her chore, she showered and dressed for bed. Unable to fight against the aching desire, she went back downstairs. She snatched a fresh bottle of gin from the bar in her office.

  Cradling the bottle she retired to her bedroom and locked the door. Ready to fall into bed she heard the whispering. At first it was nothing more than a murmuring so faint that she was certain that she had imagined them. The whispering grew steadily louder driving Temperance to the brink. The anger had swelled to the breaking point. Unable to withstand the constant chattering she flung open her bedroom door. She stormed down the hallway ranting.

  “Will you just shut up?” She screeched one final time before she felt her feet leaving the floor. Everything was a blur as she sailed down the staircase. After her death, which had been ruled an accident, Temperance Muraille’s family went ballistic. For some unknown reason, the heiress had bequeathed the island and all of her possessions to the strangers who had known her for a few short weeks.

  Chapter 1

  Stewart, MA.

  September 1, 2017

  Nicky rushed into his boss’ office. Delia looked up curious as to just what it was that had her exuberant assistant all excited. Nicky was an excitable guy and it didn’t take much to get the lanky young man going. It could be anything from winning power ball to getting a free pop tart from the vending machine.

  “Yes?”

  “We got it!”

  “They finally put Red Vines in the vending machine? You know around these parts we just call that red licorice.” She taunted him before turning her attention back to the designs sprawled out on her drafting table.

  “No,” his shoulders slumped. “We got the Westbrook account.”

  “We what?” She blurted out suddenly, caught up in his excitement. “We’re doing the school on the island?”

  “Yes,” he gushed. “We just need to wait a few weeks then we can break ground.”

  “What’s with the wait?” She fussed eager to start the project that would provide a major boost to her reputation. “We’ll just be breaking ground before the weather turns. Starting this late already puts the completion date at some time next spring.”

  “Ms. Westbrook is allowing some nature photographer to camp out on the island for two weeks. She wants to capture the natural beauty, before we start digging and building. Once this photographer clears out we have a green light.”

  “We need to start putting together a crew. Also, we need to have the property surveyed and get all of the permits in order. We need to hit the ground running. Time is not on our side.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “You’re the best.”

  New York, NY.

  The same day

  While Delia St. James was celebrating with her staff, Roselle Graskey was enduring Hell on Earth. Due to circumstances beyond her control, she was stuck in the one place she considered a living Hell; New York City. It wasn’t just New York, any highly populated place made her uneasy. Unfortunately, her agent required her physical presence in New York, when normally she would handle details via the internet. Admittedly, her truck needed a tune up, there were contracts to sign, and there were supplies she needed to stock up on. To the Living Hell she must journey.

  Her agitation didn’t stem from any anxiety disorder. It came from within. It was what she referred to as the second voice. Roselle or Ro as her friends called her, had a gift or a curse depending on ones’ point of view. She was able to hear what people were thinking. The connection was so clear for Ro, it was as if another person’s private thoughts were being spoken out loud.

  As a child, her unique ability was misunderstood to the point of her being hospitalized. Just shy of eleven years old, Ro found herself in a psychiatric hospital. Her parents and doctors were at their wits end, but they couldn’t adhere to the simple fact that there was nothing wrong with Ro. She was simply different.

  Then one day she was sitting in her room, with her doctor and a nurse. She thought she was listening to them having a conversation when in fact. She was hearing what they were thinking. Suddenly she was shocked by what she had heard.

  “No wonder she doesn’t like you,” she screamed at the doctor who had become accustomed to her sudden outbursts. “Why would you want to eat her cat?”

  “Now, Roselle,” he tried to placate her. “Why do you think, I would want to do something like that?”

  “You just said, that you want to eat her pussy.”

  “What?” He blanched, his face turning a bright shade of scarlet.

  “I beg your pardon?” The nurse balked.

  “You did,” Ro insisted not understanding how he could want to do something so disgusting.

  “Doctor?” The nurse fumed, further confusing Ro.

  “I didn’t,” he stammered before excusing himself.

  “I’m in trouble again,” Ro whimpered before curling herself up in a ball.

  Despite his embarrassment, the doctor returned a few hours later. He claimed that he needed to talk to Ro. She was hesitant but agreed. A nurse stood by and watched. Much to Ro’s delight they chatted for over an hour. The only thing Ro couldn’t understand was why the nurse seemed confused. More than once she asked what it was Ro was talking about?

  Finally the doctor smiled and thanked her for such a nice talk. Then he shook his head and said amazing. He left with the nurse hot on heels asking just what it was that had taken place.

  It took time and a great deal of research. Ro found herself spending a lot of time with the doctor and an odd group of people. One in particular named Martin was a blast to talk to. Martin had been her saving grace.

  It had taken the Dr. Simmons a long time to find him. A process that involved weeding out a plethora of crackpots. Finally, Dr. Simmons announced to Ro and her parents that there was nothing wrong with her. In fact, she had a gift. A gift, that Martin understood and could help Ro learn to use.

  Her parents were more than a little skeptical. Her father was a staff Sargent in the Army, her mother a nurse, the idea that their child heard voices was troublesome for them from the beginning.

  They were downright incredulous Dr. Simmons and Martin explained that Ro did in fact hear voices. However, she didn’t have an illness. She could in fact hear what other people were thinking. Convincing
the Graskey’s that neither they nor their child were insane took some doing.

  As time went on Ro learned to control the second voice and finally her parents came to accept this as a gift that made Ro unique.

  Once she learned to distinguish the difference between verbal and the nonverbal, her life was much easier. Still, the constant barrage of random thoughts was a difficult thing to live with. The need for silence lead her to photography. Alone in the wild, she found the sense of peace she had been seeking. Her pictures led to another unique experience. More often than not, she discovered images or people that had not been present when a photo was taken. It was disturbing at first, until she had a chance encounter with Dr. Williams.

  Instead of being freaked out, she embraced the idea and researched all she could about ghost photography, and at times used the skill to assist people like Shawn Williams. Still, Ro preferred a life far away from the living and the dead. Moments like the one she was experiencing at that moment reinforced this belief.

  Her day, in her humble opinion was done. The truck was fixed and stocked with supplies. Her meeting with her agent went smoothly. All she had left to do before she could hit the open road was leave the building and walk to the lot where she had left her truck.

  One minor problem stood in her way. Upon climbing on the elevator she reached in her bag for her cellphone. Unable to find it she quickly realized that she had left it upstairs in her agent’s office.

  Having your cell near you was a necessity in the twenty-first century. For Ro, it wasn’t only the need for constant communication. She needed her music and headphones. Riding in a busy elevator listening to her fellow passenger’s deep dark thoughts often proved disgusting.

  Granted, most people thought about three basic things, food, sex and money. If that was all people thought about, Ro wouldn’t need to drown out the din by listening to the Beatles at an obscene volume. It was the other things, like bowel movements and other disturbing images that plagued her.

  Having gotten off in the lobby she braced herself and stepped back on the elevator. Cowering in the corner she prayed that none of her fellow passengers would be lost in disturbing thoughts. Long ago, Ro discovered that people think about some weird ass shit.