On the Rocks Read online

  “Sure.” I skittishly scanned the B&B one more time before I stood up. “Let’s go soon. I think I need to get some fresh air.”

  Back in the room, I debated what to wear. Since we were going for romance, I should dress in something sexy. However, since it was February in New England, I had to think practical, too. A fitted black sweater dress was a suitable compromise. Next up, footwear. Although the high-heeled boots were sexier, the black furry ones would keep me from slipping on the wet ground.

  Nothing sexy about a woman falling on her ass.

  The restaurant was designed with dark wood paneling and bright maroon seating. The brightly colored tile tabletops depicted scenes of Portuguese villages. We drank pinot noir at the bar while waiting for our table.

  “This is nice,” I said. “We’ll have to thank Marta if the food is as good as the ambiance.”

  We were seated at a table that featured a tiled scene of fisherman reeling in their daily catch and then poured over the menus.

  “Tapas?” I suggested.

  “And some kale soup.”

  We placed our order and the server brought us a pitcher of sangria, which we nursed as we nibbled on Portuguese rolls. The soup and tapas arrived soon after and we sampled a little of everything.

  “The food here is delicious. Does it compare to your family’s cooking?”

  “The kale soup is saltier, but still good. There are many ways to make it. My family keeps the linguica in, but others remove it and serve it on the side.”

  “We should go to Portugal for our first anniversary!”

  “I’d like that. We’ll see how our finances are.”

  “Can you believe how quickly the months have flown by? Seems like we just got married.”

  “That makes us still honeymooners, Mrs. Silva.” He took my hand across the table and smiled.

  I lit up, squeezing his hand. The first time he’d smiled at me like that was at a sports bar in Faneuil Hall in Boston. I’d gone there with a couple of co-workers after we left the financial office we worked in nearby. A recent college graduate, I was enjoying the freedom and poverty of my first low-level office job in the real world. I found a small, oversized apartment in the city I shared with two roommates. Paolo was at the bar with a couple of his buddies watching a soccer match. I noticed his rugged dark looks right away and couldn’t resist peering over at him several times. During a break in the game, he walked over to the bar where my friends and I were sitting. When he caught my eye, he flashed that boyish grin. A jolt shot through my body, momentarily paralyzing me. I was so taken by him I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember being so charmed, I gave him my number.

  In the months that followed, we met for dinner or drinks after work and eventually spent entire weekends together. Getting our own place was the natural next step since we spent most nights together in one of our apartments, trying not to bother our roommates. When Paolo proposed on the Boston waterfront after a few months, I squealed with delight. I was mad about him and thrilled he felt the same about me. Our families and friends wondered if we were rushing things; we were in our early twenties and they worried we were too young. For me, spending my life with him was a no-brainer. We fantasized about our future—buying a house in the suburbs, having a few kids, getting a dog or cat—or both. So many possibilities.

  If only I hadn’t fallen for my cousin’s foolish scheme.

  Paolo interrupted my thoughts. “I checked outside when I went to the men’s room and it’s nice out now. It’s not snowing and the breeze has calmed. A good night for a walk on the shore. “

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Chapter 3

  After dinner, we drove along the shore pointing out interesting architecture. Some massive houses captured our attention.

  “Rich sea captains?” I offered.

  He shrugged. “Probably.”

  We continued to a higher point on the cliffs overlooking the rocky New England coast. The moon was almost full, and its reflection on the water lit up an otherwise dark night.

  “It’s beautiful out,” Paolo said. “So…quiet.”

  I listened for sounds, but didn’t hear anything other than the steady roll of the waves against the shore. There were no residences nearby and we had this vantage point to ourselves. “It’s so peaceful it’s almost eerie.” I inhaled the scent of the sea; so exhilarating yet calming at the same time.

  Paolo grinned, but the smile didn’t show in his eyes. “Eerie, yes.” He turned to face me and spoke in a slow, accusatory tone. “You know, I blame you for the investment.”

  I took a step back and gaped at him. “What?” I shook my head, not believing he was bringing it up again. “We’re not supposed to talk about that this weekend.”

  “How can I not talk about it? It’s all I think about.” His voice took on a sharp edge. “It was your idea and I listened to you. We lost almost everything.”

  “For the millionth time, I’m sorry.” My brain swarmed with conflicting emotions as I squeezed back tears, not sure whether they were from anger, sadness, or frustration. “You know how I’ve been working all this overtime to try to make extra money and make up for the loss. I thought the investment was a good choice for us, for our retirement, for our future.”

  “Well, I guess you’re stupid.” He snorted. “Because it was a stupid decision.”

  “Paolo!” He’d never called me names like that before.

  “There is no future for us.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I stared at him with my mouth agape. Where was this coming from? I thought we were putting that scheme we fallen victim to behind us. We’d been having a great time this weekend, hadn’t we? Why was he picking a fight now of all times?

  “I found a better way. With a quicker payout. And I’ll get rid of you.”

  He spoke words I never thought I’d hear come from his lips with his gaze fixed somewhere out on the ocean. I stared at him while I tried to process his words. They didn’t make much sense at the time, but still stung with a slow, unyielding venom that caused greater anguish as its path spread through my body.

  “Goodbye, Heather.” Paolo spun toward me and I caught a flash of the cold fury in his eyes before he sprang, pushing me off the cliff. My hip smashed into hard stone and I shrieked. The pain jolted me into action and I reached out frantically to grab anything as I slid five to ten feet along the slippery rocks.

  I grabbed some brush, which kept me from falling to my death thirty feet below. Don’t look down.

  Resisting the urge to peek, I peered up. The incessant crash of the waves against the coast reminded me of my fate if I lost my grip. Funny how I thought that sound was so soothing all weekend. Now with my senses fully alert, did I realize how sinister it could be. The incessant cadence mocked me in my struggle.

  I focused on the scene above and when my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the image terrorized me. The rocky coast appeared to smile smiled hungrily at the prospect of gaining a victim.

  It’s only the effect of the moon on the stone. I tried to convince myself it was just my mind playing a trick on me. Something about the light and the shadows.

  I heard Paolo yell obscenities in Portuguese. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see him, but I couldn’t stop to search for him as I had to focus on what to grab. What branches were strong enough to support my weight? One weak one, and I was history. I reached out to test the thicker ones before pulling myself forward and up.

  Paolo tried to kill you. He wants you dead.

  “No, no, no,” I wailed as his betrayal pierced me. We were married. We were happy and in love. Weren’t we?

  My hip spurred me into action; the eye-watering intensity of pain. I wasn’t sure of the severity of the injury, but I couldn’t take the time to check on it.

  Focus, Heather. Follow the brush, find strong footholds. Get the hell up.

  Pushing the pain out of my mind, I concentrated on moving up this vertical slant to try to find some footing. I
thanked the gods I hadn’t picked the high-heeled boots as at least these ones had some grip to them.

  My mind searched back to lessons from a long time ago. When I was 16 and my sister was 14, my parents signed us up for a weeklong outdoor rock climbing class in the White Mountains. What had we learned back then? Something about holds, weight distribution, I couldn’t remember it exactly. It was a lifetime ago, I was a teenager climbing for fun—not a woman trying to survive after an attempted murder.

  I hoped muscle memory would kick in, because my brain couldn’t remember a damn thing.

  You’re wasting time! Just climb. However you can, climb!

  Moving sideways took longer, but I figured my chances were better with the branches rather than looking for crevices in the wet rocks. When I climbed in class, it was on dry rocks, not slippery seaside cliffs so whatever I had learned might not transfer over in this case. Although I searched for footholds, I trusted my arms much more than my legs right now. Any time I thought my feet had a steady grip, one would slip.

  Minutes went by, who knows maybe it was hours. My sense of time was out of whack. Had I moved at all? Made any progress? My orientation was off as well and I hoped I was moving in the right direction. Carrying my weight while ignoring the pain had already maxed out my physical and mental capacities so I couldn’t be sure of anything.

  My muscles screamed in protest as I pushed them past their limits. When I could no longer see the outline of rocks above, I knew I was near the top.

  That’s when I saw Paolo’s face. He stood directly over me. Surrounded by the soft glow of the moon, he appeared to have a halo. Like an angel.

  Only his malevolent expression proved he was no angel. He spewed pure hatred without uttering a word.

  Why didn’t I think of him waiting for me when I climbed? I could have searched for a place to hide.

  What was I, nuts? The only thing I was thinking about was scaling my way off the cliff. I could only fight one life-threatening obstacle at a time.

  “What the hell are you doing? Get out of my way!”

  “You can’t leave here alive.”

  Not knowing how I could fight both the cliff and Paolo, I tried to appeal to him. “It’s only money, Paolo. What about love? I thought you loved me.”

  “I did once. Not anymore. What you did was a betrayal. Of my trust in you. Of our marriage. You destroyed everything we had and were building.”

  Tears stung my eyes as truth hit me. My husband despised me, so much he wanted me dead. How had I not seen this coming?

  “It was a mistake. An honest mistake. Just help me up and we can figure it out. Hurry up, I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “The only smart thing you did was up our insurance policies. Half a million dollars will help soothe the pain of your betrayal.” He laughed cruelly. “Never mind, it was only good for me, not for you. In your case, it looks like it was another stupid thing.”

  I scrambled over to the rock on my right, using the ones below to gain a better foothold. What felt like concrete smashed my fingers as Paolo stepped on my left hand.

  I screamed out. Then I called for help. It didn’t matter. Nobody could hear me except Paolo.

  This was it. My last chance. Either I was going to let him kill me here, or I was going to do whatever I could to survive.

  I hesitated for one moment knowing this could be my final move. If it didn’t go right, I would fall and die. I wasn’t thinking clearly from the pain and terror, so I hoped the adrenaline screaming through my body would help where reason had left me.

  With my other hand, I reached up and grabbed his leg. At the same time I used momentum from pushing my feet to swing up and over the final rock. Paolo wasn’t expecting this and lost his footing. My fingers sighed in relief as the weight eased from them and he fell forward. I let go of him, which saved me from falling with him, but I slipped several feet back down the rocks.

  I grasped to clutch anything as I descended and heard Paolo’s scream. His voice died out with the descent, his final gasp drowned out by the waves. The eerie silence that followed signaled what waited for me. The mocking cadence of the waves continued.

  As I maneuvered up, I forced myself to take my time and not hurry to avoid any fatal mistakes. The adrenaline pumping through my veins revolted, wanting me to rush to get out of danger. I took a deep breath to fight the fear and focus on survival.

  Nobody is up there trying to kill you.

  My arms and legs burned and I was so exhausted I didn’t know if I had enough strength to continue. Inch by inch, I moved up. Finally, I reached the top. Using my last reserves of energy, I forced myself over the final rock and collapsed. I gasped for the salty ocean air, panting as I recovered from the climb. But, I couldn’t stay there forever.

  The scrapes all over my body, from my face to my arms down my legs, commanded my attention, but these were dwarfed by the throbbing pain in my hip. A puddle of blood had formed beneath it on the rock. Little streams pooled towards the edge of the jagged stone and dropped down in rivulets along the side. I almost passed out at the sight of all the blood. If I didn’t get medical attention soon, all I’d just gone through was for naught.

  The climb and the adrenaline had me sweating, but with my body cooling down, the ocean air now bit at my damp skin with ferocity. Soon I was shivering.

  I curled up into a ball in an attempt to warm myself, stuffing my cold stiff hands between my thighs.

  “Stay with it, stay with it,” I repeated, forcing myself to look at my surroundings.

  I tried to focus on images around me to keep from losing consciousness. What I noticed were the old New England coastal houses with their widow walks dotting the coast.

  Widow.

  I was a widow. At the ripe old age of 25.

  There would be no first honeymoon, no trip to Portugal. No house with a couple of kids, no cats or dogs.

  No husband. I was alone. Again.

  My husband was dead.

  The chances that he would have survived such a fall were slim without some sort of divine intervention. The man who I swore to love forever was gone. At my hands.

  I killed my husband. Even it if was self-defense, I still killed the man I’d swore to love for all my days. Til death do us part.

  Darkness snuck into my peripheral vision. Woozy from the loss of blood, I could only see directly in front of me.

  I reached into my coat pocket to see if there was a slim chance that my cell phone wasn’t smashed. It was on the opposite side from my crushed hip, so maybe, just maybe it might still work.

  With reluctance, I pulled off my glove to press the power switch. When I saw the screen come alive, I cried out in delight. My fingers were so cold and stiff and I shook so much from the shivering I couldn’t slide the damn lock feature. It took me four times and I still couldn’t unlock it. It was a tiny movement, maybe two inches at the most. If I kept screwing up, the bloody phone would lock me out. I cursed and cried out before accepting neither one helped my situation.

  Taking a deep breath, I willed my fingers to remain steady before I took another swipe. When it finally unlocked, I whooped before pressing the emergency button.

  I only had time to tell the dispatcher my name and location as the darkness crept in. I could barely note the moon’s glare from above, the only sign of light left.

  As I collapsed back onto the rock and focused on the moon, I had another thought. If I made it out of here, I wouldn’t just be a very young widow.

  I’d also be a rich one.

  The End.

  About the Author

  Lisa loves stories with dark, brooding, isolated characters (like Heathcliff, Dracula, Darth Vader, and Severus Snape) and tough, independent, caring heroines. Her reading tastes very widely and she’ll read almost anything—especially mysteries, romance, and non-fiction on any new topic of interest.

  She is thrilled to be a multi-published, award-winning author writing in different genres since she’s wanted t
o write since the sixth grade. Her travels and many jobs have provided her with inspiration for novels, such as serving in the Marine Corps in Okinawa, Japan, backpacking alone around Europe, or working as a waitress in Paris. Her love of books inspired her to own a small independent book store for a couple of years.

  Lisa is happily married to the man of her dreams and lives in New England with their children. She spends her days writing for corporate clients and her evenings writing stories and articles.

  Visit her website for more on books, trailers, playlists, and more:

  Lisacarlislebooks.com

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  Read on for an excerpt of Betrayed: A Ghost Story, part of the Bed, Breakfast, and Betrayal series, and info on Lisa’s other books.

  An Excerpt from Betrayal : A Ghost Story

  By Lisa Carlisle

  Part of the Bed, Breakfast, and Betrayal Series

  Some call it a gift. Others, a curse.

  I don’t care what they call it, as long as they pay my fee.

  Being able to see ghosts has its benefits. It used to scare the bejeezus out of me when I was a kid, but now I’ve used it to net a decent income, I look at it from a different perspective. Money.

  It pays the bills and then some. Not everyone has the ability to communicate with the dead. There are many phonies out there or people who need fancy electronic gadgets for their “ghost hunts,” but I don’t need any of that. I’m the real deal, baby.

  The call I received on Tuesday morning didn’t seem unusual.

  “My name is Karen Swanson and I manage a bed and breakfast in the White Mountains. I’m hoping you can help me.”

  Living in New England keeps my phone ringing. Lots of spirits lurking around old houses and hotels. Some owners want me to help the ghosts resolve their issues so they can cross over and leave everyone in peace. Others welcome their ghosts as a lure for tourists. They just call me in to substantiate their claim of a haunted setting. Sybil Channing, ghost whisperer, communicated with spirits here.