Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set Read Free Page A

of Richard
and family. When she'd lived here, the Cormiers had been struggling to make
their grocery a success, living upstairs, giving credit that wasn't always
repaid. Seemed as if these twenty years had been kind to them.
    According to the others—who were more than happy to fill Liz
in—when the Fortier cannery folded, Richard Junior snapped up the wharf that
once fed it. He renamed it a marina—a title as grandiose as this tiny town's
name—and with the air finally freed of the stench of rotting fish, tourism
picked up. Cash customers arrived, needing supplies, needing rental boats,
which Richard supplied for a small king's ransom. The Cormiers then used those
profits to build an inn. And so it went.
    Regular entrepreneurs. Judging by this mansion, a faithful
replication of a Creole plantation house, she wouldn't be surprised to see
their industries show up as her next hot penny stock. But their current
kindness couldn't erase her memories of their constant bullying during her
childhood.
    Witch's child. Raggedy swamp girl. Those were the gentler
taunts. Other times they claimed she curdled milk or made babies sick with her
evil eye.
    One day she hurled a curse at Richard in retaliation and he
broke his arm that afternoon, adding fuel to their accusations.
    Liz stopped before one of the large stone hearths to warm
herself by the fire. It was unusually cold for an afternoon in the middle of
May, and she was grateful for the heat. As she rubbed her hands, she found
herself staring up at a crucifix hanging over the mantel, something that graced
almost every Cajun home. To most this represented all that was holy, but to Liz
it symbolized everything she'd fled.
    "Praying for your mama's soul?"
    It took a moment for Liz to realize the question had been
directed at her. When she turned, a chill crept up her spine.
    "Hello, Maddie," she said coolly.
    "Lord Jesus watch out for your mama, Izzy. You must
trust."
    Liz regarded Maddie for a long moment, deciding not to
bother with asking if she'd call her Liz She noted with mild surprise that
Maddie, who was ten years her senior, somehow did not look a day over thirty.
Although painfully thin, a fact her sleeveless, scoop-necked gown emphasized,
Maddie was nonetheless striking. Her dark skin and large almond-shaped eyes gave
her an exotic beauty, and her bearing revealed a self-possession that even her
ungrammatical speech couldn't belie.
    "I pray for her." Maddie brushed back an imaginary
stray hair. "I pray God take her soul to heaven and she be very
happy."
    "How can you pretend you care?" Liz asked acidly.
    "It weren't like that between Ellie and me. I love her
like a sister. Some things you don't understand, with them big city ways you
got now."
    Liz placed her glass beneath the feet of the crucified
Jesus. "If you'll excuse me."
    Instead of replying, Maddie stared at her long and hard. For
a peculiar second, Liz felt as if those slanted dark eyes were searching her
soul. But she met them boldly. As she did, an electric charge ran from the top
of her head and down her spine. Words spilled involuntarily from her lips.
    "You will die a violent death," she said in a
strangely altered voice. "Fortunately, it will be quick."
    "Ah, you is the daughter of your mama, after all."
A cynical smile crossed Maddie's face. "And got her gift of second
sight."
    The words shattered Liz's trancelike state. Somewhat
stunned, she turned away from Maddie and rushed through the open French doors
to the veranda outside.
    She walked to the edge, propped her elbows on the carved
railing, and stared into the distance. The dipping sun glowed behind a curtain
of misting rain. Tiny drops of water fell from the trees and clung to the
Spanish moss, where they glittered like rhinestones. The splash of a fish
breaking the water of the bayou not far away added an alto note to the high
chirrups of the crickets. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance.
    What had happened in there?
    Lord, she thought with despair,