Black Stump Ridge - Softcover

Manning, John; Hedrick, Forrest

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1450289169 ISBN 13: 9781450289160

Verlag: iUniverse, 2011

Inhaltsangabe

For the past twelve years, Fred Kyle has wrapped whiskey-drenched clouds around him while hiding in a cheap motel in Austin, Texas. A knock on the door reveals a face from the past, and suddenly all of the horror and death of an ill-fated Thanksgiving hunting trip over a decade ago is swirling around him. Amanda Carlyle has been searching for Fred, her father's former best friend, for two years. Not sure of what she expects to find on the other side of the motel room door, Amanda knocks, knowing she must face Fred in order to uncover the truth about what killed her father nearly twelve years ago. Was it really a hunting accident as Fred had told the police? Or was it something so evil that Fred has been crippled by the horrific memories ever since? But Amanda needs to know-one way or the other-and demands to know the real story behind the fatal events. With Fred's reluctant retelling comes hints of a heritage he has tried to ignore, the pull of the fiddles, and the realization that he must finally send back the evil he and his friends accidentally released long ago.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

John Manning is president of Management Action Programs, Inc. He has diverse experience in business leadership, having held executive positions in Fortune 500 companies in operations, marketing, and sales. Formerly the director of operations for McKesson Water Products, Inc., he was also part of a leadership team that took the company national. This move made McKesson one of the largest bottled - water companies in the United States. Katie Roberts is a freelance business and marketing writer/editor. She is a former television reporter, award?winning magazine editor and writer, and a nonprofit business organization founder/director.

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Black Stump Ridge

By John Manning Forrest Hedrick

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 John Manning and Forrest Hedrick
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-8916-0

Chapter One

Amanda Carlyle brushed an errant wave of black hair away from her forehead with a well-manicured hand. She looked through the windshield at the horseshoe shaped alcove of bleached blue facades that stared back at her from three sides. Her hazel eyes darted here and there as she took in the scene around her. Evenly spaced stairways yawned shadowed mouths onto the dusty caliche parking lot. The white, stony-clay surface threw back the late afternoon sun like a mirror. The car's windows magnified it until it overcame the air conditioning despite the heavily tinted glass. Amanda had forgotten just how intense a Central Texas summer could be.

Two small, black-haired Hispanic-looking children played in the scant shade in the far right corner. The boy — at least, he looked like a boy — crouched low, his bare knees just above the dusty gravel. His chubby fingers scrabbled in search of something among the tiny stones. His Spider Man tee shirt sported gray dust like a powdering of confectioner's sugar. The girl wore a lavender Hello Kitty jumper over a faded yellow tee shirt. Both wore torn and faded flip-flop sandals on their tiny feet. Amanda estimated their ages at four and five but which was older she could not guess.

Nettles, dandelions, and tall, thick-stemmed weeds struggled to survive in corners and cracks along the base of the building. Windows, some with sun-bleached curtains, some with slanting and battered blinds, and a few with no covering over the streaked and filthy glass, stared down from the second floor. Small air conditioning units jutted from the lower half of each window. Open carports stood like square cinderblock caves below many of the windows. Condensation dripped onto the cars and trucks parked within the shadowed slots and streaked the white dust that covered most of them. Many of the vehicles shared space with torn and sagging box springs and mattresses. A few of the empty carports held large refrigerators, their dented doors still attached. Amanda glanced back at the children and shuddered. Hopefully, the doors would open easily from the inside should a child climb inside of one. Still, her business did not include whistle blowing for appliance safety.

Amanda glanced down at the hastily scribbled note on the tablet lying on the center console:

Fred Kyle Del Mar Motel 3300 North Capitol Avenue Room 26 Austin

She sighed. According to the ancient, battered sign out front this was the Del Mar Motel. Some motels descended into hourly rate hideaways for hookers and pimps. Some became shooting galleries for addicts and dealers. Still others became resident motels, crash pads for panhandlers, drunks, and families too poor — or too illegal — to afford better. This one looked like it shared all three fates.

Amanda looked at the shadowed openings with their partially hidden stairways leading up to the apartments. Metal numbers eight inches high, some partially covered with chipped and faded paint, hung from the cracked frame on either side of the doorways. Her eyes followed the progression clockwise: seven and eight, nine and ten, eleven and twelve, until she found the pair bracketing the doorway on her right, twenty-five and twenty-six.

Her stomach knotted. The end of two years of searching waited at the top of those stairs. All she had to do was to put the gearshift into Park, turn off the engine, and walk up the steps.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel until they cramped. The engine continued to idle. She blinked. Why was she frozen in place? What Gorgonic force turned her muscles to stone, unable to make the final, simple movements that would end this part of her quest? She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly, relaxing as the air hissed between her lips. It was only nerves; fear of the unknown. She moved the shift lever into P and shut off the engine. Sweat immediately beaded her temples and the back of her neck beneath her thick hair. She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and, after taking another deep breath, opened the door and stepped outside.

The fierce afternoon heat gripped her like a scorching fist. Her breath hissed through her tight lips. She inhaled reflexively. Hot air dried her throat as her lungs expanded. She squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for her glasses to compensate for the sun's harsh brightness. After a few seconds she opened her eyes.

Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she lurched to the waiting stairway. The tiny stones under her leather soles made her stagger like a drunk. Her ankles protested as she struggled not to break one of her three-inch heels. Only four steps away from the car and she already regretted the not-so-sensible pinstriped navy jacket. The cream-colored silk blouse that looked so chic in the mirror back in her motel room now felt like wet plastic wrap clinging to her skin. Her legs grew slick inside her pantyhose. How had she forgotten about that? She stopped and tried to smooth her skirt as she looked upward into the shadowed stairway. Her glasses, darkened by the sunlight, intensified the shadows. Fog covered the lenses. Despite this, she made out the landing above. On either side was a closed door. The person she sought should be behind the door to the right. An old TV game show, Let's Make a Deal, flashed through her mind.

"I'll take door number two, Monty," she grimaced as she resumed her slow voyage. Her shoes rapped hollow echoes on the worn and faded stairs as she finally left the parking lot behind her. The dry wood was scalloped from the up and down march of decades of soles. The curved surfaces beneath her shoes' slick leather made her ascent treacherous.

Amanda stopped before a scratched and battered blue door. She raised her fist, ready to knock, and then hesitated. What was she doing here? What did she really expect to find on the other side of this panel? Answers? Understanding? Closure?

What about rejection? She hadn't seriously considered that possibility until this moment. Suppose he simply ignored her knock? What if he slammed the door in her face without so much as an acknowledgment? Was she ready for that?

Doubt filled her mind. Her hand slowly fell to her side. What right did she have to intrude on this man's life? Although he'd been one of her father's best friends — he was with her father when he died twelve years ago — did that give her any right to be here, in front of this door, ready to bring back that memory?

The stairwell was hot and claustrophobic. A bead of sweat itched as it slid greasily between her breasts and down toward her belly. A single naked bulb burned in the cracked ceiling above her.

She looked down the stairwell. Sunlight reflected back at her. Her car was down there. Freedom was down there. Sanity? Yes, that, too. She could give up the quest. She should give it up. Just walk down the steps, get into the car, and drive away. Just leave this dreary place. Drive straight to the airport, hop on the next plane to anywhere, and get as far away as she could. Let the questions remain unanswered.

Her father's face appeared before her. She saw his smile and the tenderness in his eyes. His laugh, so full of life and joy as they watched Saturday morning cartoons, filled her mind. The smell of his Sunday morning breakfasts welled up from her memory, meals...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: iUniverse
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2011
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1450289169
• ISBN 13: 9781450289160
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 280
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland