A Stone Throw Away

Sky Love

Description

Lisa Bentley is recovering from a bad relationship. She leaves New York for a small town in Michigan. Trying to leave the past behind, but it seems to follow her. She buys a little cabin, in the woods. Rescues Pugsley from the local animal shelter. Then meets her neighbor Cody, and Lisa melts at first site.

Two skeletons turn up on Lisa's property, hidden in a cave. Brad her ex-lover is on the run for kidnapping his first wife. After a short time he shows up at Lisa's door and she disappears. Will Cody save her?

Dee a waitress at the local bakery finds out she was kidnapped at two months old. Will she find her birth parents? What other deceits and deceptions will be uncovered?

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 07 mars 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456630676
• Langue: English

Extrait

A Stone Throw Away
 
 
by
Sky Love
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Copyright 2018 by Sky Love
All rights reserved.
 
 
Published by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
 
ISBN-13: 978 - 1 - 4566 - 3233 - 5 (Amazon)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-3237-3 (Paperback)
 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
 
 
This book is dedicated to Christine for giving me her famous and appreciated words:
“ Don ’ t worry, it will happen. ”
Contents
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
Coming Soon:
Some favorite recipes in A Stone Throw Away
Lisa's Meatloaf
Cody's Lemon Meringue Pie
Jim’s Chocolate Chip Cookies
 
Chapter 1
I never get tired of watching the sunset, seeing the gold, reds and yellows blend together, then disappear from the sky. As Pugsley and I take our evening walk, we both smell the scent of rain. Almost on cue, we take off running simultaneously. In this little town here in northern Michigan, we have found that the weather can change at the drop of a hat.
Up the path we run, and just as we hit the first step of my porch—yes, I said my porch —the rain hits. Slightly wet, I sit down in my rocker, and I'll say it again—on my porch . Pugsley shakes off the moisture and lays at my feet. I think he's going need to have a few more walks or maybe have his diet adjusted.
Pugsley is the sweetest pug you will ever find. I found him at the local animal shelter about a month after I came here. He was in need of love and so was I. Now we seem to be a perfect match. You know, I could even benefit from an extra walk now and then.
"OK, Pugsley. Let's go get some supper." Once inside, I double-bolt the door behind us.
One of the first things that happened when I bought the cabin was that my parents came up from Sandusky, Michigan, where they've lived their whole life. So here comes Mom and Dad. Mom starts to cry that I'm too hidden from everyone, no neighbors to be seen, but once inside, she loved my cabin. Now here's my dad, tool box in hand. First, he installs new dead bolt locks on the front and back door with extra keys to hide outside so I don't lock myself out. Next, he goes around to the windows to check and double-check the locks on each one—even the bathroom window that's so small no one could climb in. You just have to love them.
Pugsley sits waiting by his dish. Let's see now.
"Pugs, shall it be Healthy Seniors Beef Stew or Chicken Delight?"
Wow. They make these canned dog foods sound almost good enough for me. Pugs just cocks his head as if to say, "OK, I'm hungry. Either one," as he dances around my feet. A little dish of water for him, but not too much. I don't want an after-dark walk. I haven't gotten that brave yet.
With Pugsley all taken care of, now what gourmet dish shall I whip up for myself? Let's see. I have leftover chicken from the deli that I bought yesterday. Add a little mayo, relish, and lettuce, and pile it onto some delicious wheat bread bought at the bakery in town. Now, a dill pickle spear on the side, and I have a meal that would have cost me an easy $20 back in New York. A cup of hot cocoa and I'm good to go.
After changing into my jammies and bunny slippers, I'm ready to settle down for the evening. No writing tonight; I can tell I'm not in the zone for it, and I ’ ve learned I can never push it. Waste of time — all it causes is writing and rewriting.
Maybe a little TV. Now, mind you, TV is very limited. I get four channels and two are wildlife adventures. I choose Whitetail Deer figuring since there are deer here — I ’ ve seen them down by the river — maybe I should learn about them. Just as I am starting to drift off, I listen to this one hunter describing different deer calls, and he reminds me of Brad. Dear sweet Brad. The love of my life and the devil in disguise. I tell myself: Lisa Bentley, out with the old and in with the new .
Maybe it was all my fault; maybe I was too anxious. I was always protected by either Mom, Dad, or Big Brother Jim.
I went through high school — nothing exciting there. Had a couple of boyfriends, silly stuff, got and good grades. Then off to college to study business finance.
Got good grades. Didn ’ t have much of a social life. Had lots of offers for dates, but I was more interested in my studies and getting a great job. I was always writing short stories and poems. So, I didn't have time for guys in my life. I sold several of my stories to magazines. Nothing big, but it was enjoyable to write, and the extra money always helped.
One evening, I went to a local pub just off campus. Sitting in a booth, I could hear this group over in a corner. There were eight of them. They were discussing poetry and writing. Two of them recited their poems, and the others discussed them. I found out they came there every Tuesday and Friday night at 7 p.m.
I started going routinely as well and sitting in my same booth. After about three visits, this guy walks over and says, "Hi, my name is Brad. Would you like to come over and join our group?"
He went on to explain that they were all wannabe writers: some in poetry, others with short stories, and one working on a novel. I felt really welcome and comfortable with everyone. Brad seemed to be the one in charge. It was cool; they took turns reading their work, and the circle would give their opinion, good or bad. Helpful but not overly critical.
One member, Todd, a big guy, but a shy type, stood up and began describing how he loves to write. He was giving us a little background about himself: he had an unstable family and was bullied by schoolmates all throughout his youth. He never really had any close friends, so he took to writing as a personal therapy. As he ’ s telling us all of this, Todd is stuttering and red-faced. But as soon as he starts to read his poetry, it was like a switch was thrown. As Todd read, the group became totally still, and you could feel every word he spoke; it touched your inner being. I think it really left us all speechless. I think Brad was quite moved as well because he told us all to take a five-minute break. Everyone was expressing praise to Todd, and of course, his face turned beet-red again.
Once the break was over, I could feel myself becoming more interested in what Brad and the others had to say. One Tuesday night, Brad gave us a challenge: twenty minutes to write a short poem, and this is what I came up with:
Painting Flowers
by Lisa Bentley
 
As I look outside, I see spring in the air.
I can picture Angels everywhere.
I see them dancing and prancing.
Flying all about, painting the buds
Back on the tree.
Pushing the Tulips up so we can see.
Oh, the joy they must share
Painting flowers everywhere.
 
This was what Todd wrote:
Shadows drifting in the distance.
Always watching , always waiting.
Waiting just around the corner,
Waiting to snatch and grab you.
Waiting for that time when you are
unaware, you let your guard down.
You turn your back, you relax and then
The shadows catch you and take you down
Waiting to devour your very soul.
Can you stay on guard every moment?
Will the shadows catch you unaware?
Sad to say, two days later Todd was found in his room. He had hung himself. Why hadn ’ t we seen this coming and why hadn ’ t any of us reached out to him? We all get so caught up in our own little world. I am so ashamed of myself that I didn ’ t see the hurt in Todd. I didn ’ t see the pain. He was shy, yes, but a lot of people are shy. Todd was such a talented writer. I think of what he could have been. Such a waste. I tell myself, never again am I going to get so wrapped up in myself that I don ’ t see the hurt in others. The funeral for Todd was huge. Where were all these people when he needed them?
Jerry, a guy in our writer’s class, asked Todd ’ s mother if he could take some of Todd ’ s poems and try to get them published. He said he would start a fund to promote awareness of bullying. Todd left a long note explaining how he was bullied and picked on in school. How he just couldn ’ t trust anyone. He felt that if people were nice to him, they were just laughing at him behind his back. He was such a great writer; it was such a waste. I have never forgotten Todd; his memory is burnt into my brain.
About six months after Todd ’ s death, I went to visit Todd ’ s parents. I knew he had two younger brothers; I was curious to see if they were having the same trouble that Todd had growing up. Not sure why I was doing this; maybe guilt? Todd’s family lived about forty miles from campus. One Saturday morning, I got in my car and drove, asking myself all the way, Why are you doing this? I had n o answer—I just keep driving. When I was within five miles, I pulled into a little restaurant and ordered a sandwich and Coke. I sat there about forty-five minutes. I only ate half of my sandwich but finished my Coke. The last five miles were the longest part of the drive. I pulled off the road three times, wanting to turn around and go back to the campus.
The small two-story home was in a nice neighborhood. There was a basketball hoop on the two-car garage and a fenced-in yard with beautiful roses climbing on it. OK, I pull in and get out of the car. Now starts my walk from car to house. It seemed to take forever. I reach up to ring the doorbell, but before I could ring it, the door opened.
Todd ’ s mother is standing there; she is all smiles and says, “ Hello. Please come in. ” As I enter, I see Todd ’ s two brothers. I ’ m guessing they are about ten and thirteen years of age. In walks Todd ’ s dad. I ’ m thinking, now what