Moreno Girls

'Til Death Do Us Part
1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62488-260-9
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 396 Seiten

Natalie Grant's deliverance lies in solving two murders from twenty years ago she believes are linked to best friend KT O'Neill's recent suicide.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Moreno, Lisa

Leseproben

CHAPTER 1
CAITLIN’S STORY, “KT”
November 1, 2008 Cold, musky air pervades the single room chapel that serves as the funeral site for Caitlin (KT) O’Neill’s premature death. Here, just beyond the quiet, lies the forgotten town of Heaven’s Door, in the rural farming community of Macon County, Illinois. Nine closely bound Irish clans mourn the death of a kin. Outside, a brisk November day kicks up wind batting the walls of the simple chapel. The windows tremble shielding its mocking sounds. Its 150 year old cemetery shoulders the tallest headstones imaginable. They stand like sentries across an uncompromised prairie that spiral up a gentle rise ending at the foot of a grandiose church. A medieval gothic structure with pointed arches, tall tapered pillars and stained glass. It seems to be standing watch against the horizon holding court over this cement graveyard. However, the free-standing small chapel by comparison seems out of place. The mourners have all been seated. The matriarch, Siobhan O’Neill, is sitting in the front right pew tucked between her three sons: Patrick, Liam, and Aidan and surviving daughter, Darcy. Caitlin’s father, Declan O’Neill had passed away the month before due to cancer. Yet, the expression on Siobhan’s face is peculiar. Not the expected look of a grieving mother. Sitting in the back of the chapel is a 38 year old attractive brunette flanked by her mother and younger brother. Natalie Grant had been Caitlin O’Neill’s best friend since childhood and had flown in from New York the night before the funeral. Maggie Grant held onto her numb daughter. Kevin appears disconnected, yet holds his sister’s hand. Natalie sits trancelike. Underneath, deep in thought, she is trying to make sense of KT’s suicide and the haunting visions of the past 20 years. Natalie’s memory is sketchy due to an injury she sustained from a car accident in June, 1988, leaving her mind trapped in an amnesia-filled void. Being here at KT’s funeral clicked something deep inside. The decision to dig up the past wasn’t an option anymore. Not now with KT gone. As the priest began the service, Natalie’s mind wanders back in time to when the girls were teenagers and she was about to leave for a sleepover at KT’s. In spite of her arresting amnesia, certain memories were snapshot clear. Natalie could still remember that heavy, suffocating day vividly in her mind. The time is early July, 1986. She caught a ride with one of KT’s neighbor’s, Betty McCloud. Annie McCloud and Natalie shared ballet classes in Decatur. Mrs. McCloud assured Natalie it wasn’t an imposition to drop her off. The scenery to KT’s family farm seemed to change suddenly once they left the township of Decatur and entered the rural area of Macon County. They drove through an old rundown sleepy town. The first building that came into view was a convenience store with piles of junk heaped up against its paint weary walls. Natalie remembered thinking it was deserted until she saw a man walk out with a six-pack of beer. There were two large, lazy looking hounds sprawled out in the middle of the main street. Mrs. McCloud had to navigate around them. One propane/gas station, an Ace Hardware store, Fly & Tackle Shop, and a John Deere tractor lot commanded the left side of the street; a few vacant buildings and an Irish pub were further down on the right. The place looked all but abandoned save for a few weather-faded cars parked along the curbside. Some people were visible through storefront windows, but no one was outside. Hoards of flies and June bugs patrolled for sustenance. The hounds appeared to be their primary target buzzing them in a frenzied dance. The poor dogs constantly flinched and scratched at the blitz. Natalie recalled an inexplicable eerie feeling creep over her while driving through this place. She relived the sensation tingling up and down the back of her neck. An old faded greeting sign placed mid-block caused her to glance to the right. There, through an open window, was an old woman standing beneath a ceiling fan just letting the blades of air tickle through her frail wispy hair and cool her face. She looked haggard. The locals knew it was always a battle dealing with the relentless heat and humidity that permeated Macon County this time of year. The decrepit looking woman caught Natalie’s eyes staring at her and abruptly turned away. Embarrassed, Natalie quickly glanced at the sign. It was adorned with small white painted river rocks embedded along its base. The top of the sign had some odd symbol she didn’t recognize with words beneath saying… “Welcome to Heaven’s Door Enjoy your stay” Up ahead, an old army surplus store hugged the right side corner of the block. It had two deeply-carved log beams supporting a portico. A decaying wooden statue of an Indian Chief stood guard out front almost blocking the entry. Its dull crumbling paint had peeled away from the face leaving its eyes vacant and haunting. Though obscure, there was a narrow, rust-colored building set back a bit next to the surplus store. It had the same odd symbol over the doorway. Natalie remembered thinking it might be a Masonic Lodge or a place of worship. In white lettering below the symbol it simply said, Built in 1848. Brought up a Protestant, Sundays were always spent in reverence. Natalie’s mom felt worshiping together kept families united. Natalie attended church simply to appease her. She had her own thoughts about the spiritual world; however, she held her feelings very private, deep inside. All she knew of God was abandonment. KT was an Irish Catholic, yet attended public school as far back as Natalie could recall. Natalie wondered why she didn’t attend St. Teresa’s Catholic School, but decided better to leave it alone. There were, after all, some secrets they just couldn’t share. Down the road a bit was a small airfield where retired single-engine prop planes and crop-dusters sat as relics beaten down by the elements waiting to be salvaged. The rutted dirt runway had been taken over by a sea of tangled weeds and a plethora of berry vines that had climbed up, over and around the litter of spent bottles, disposed old sink, and the skeleton of a junked car. Natalie remembered the scene with a sense of foreboding. There was an active war going on here and the elements had clearly won a victory over this windswept God forsaken place. Once they passed the airstrip another curious sign placed again in the center of the block said… “Leaving Heaven’s Door Watch your step” Natalie felt a sense of relief when she was on the other side of that sign. That town gave her the willies. Remembering it 20 years later was no different. KT had told her the entire area was primarily Irish. Natalie, being an avid history buff, was enthralled by stories about the early days of Illinois. She believed her journalism roots came from her fascination with reading as a young girl. She recalled the many stories that punctuated the plight of the Irish and their flight from sure death. The Irish families who migrated to Macon County, Illinois, were hard working farmers. Self-sufficient, their interaction with the rest of the community was left simply to attending church and school and selling their crops at market. These farms, though independent, existed with a coalescent mindset. They made their own rules, kept to themselves and rarely ventured out of their communities. Most of these original families arrived in New York escaping the Great Hunger that hit Ireland in the mid 1800’s. During the plague years, thousands upon thousands of Irish immigrants boarded “coffin ships” bound for New York harbor. Many migrated to Chicago first and then spread to the outlying towns. As they drove on, she recalled seeing the sight of billboards and towering power lines emerge out of nowhere. Natalie felt like she had gone through a time warp as Heaven’s Door seemed to be suspended in another dimension. Now these visions triggered new sparks inside her head igniting lost memories. This time paralyzing fear wouldn’t deny Natalie her breakthrough. So far no one had noticed her mental preoccupation. Satisfied, she sunk back in time. Lining the private road to KT’s farmhouse were various sizes of white painted river rocks. They were placed in unusual circular patterns on both sides of the driveway. Up ahead was a wrought iron gate with the O’Neill’s family name twisted in iron forming its letters across the top. The same symbol she had seen in town on the greeting signs acting as pedestals for the family name. The two-story farmhouse was painted a deep bottle green with white shutters. Flower boxes filled with beautiful blooms lined each window. Mrs. McCloud pulled up to the house and Natalie got out of the car thanking her for the ride. KT’s mother, Siobhan O’Neill, greeted her at the front door. Mrs. McCloud and Annie waved as they drove off. Mrs. O’Neill was a tall, stout, strong-jawed woman dressed in a simple Irish linen frock. Dark, foreboding, wide-set eyes branded her broad face. KT shared her high angular cheekbones. Her black and gray hair was pulled back in a severe twist. Not a hair out of place the gray streaks looked almost surreal. The lines etched across her face spoke of hard living. She seemed pleasant enough, but Natalie still felt an uneasy chill run through her veins as she remembered their conversation. “Natalie, please come in.” “Hello Mrs. O’Neill.” “KT will be down in a minute or two. Please come into our living room. Can I offer you some freshly squeezed lemonade?” “That would be wonderful, Mrs. O’Neill,”...