I Spy a Demon
by
Keta Diablo
Award-Winning Bestselling Author
@ketadiablo
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Alone In The Dark
Dariel Raye – USA Today Bestselling Author
The Devil Upstairs
Lori Titus – USA Today Bestselling Author
Talons
Muffy Wilson – USA Today Bestselling Author
Succubus Unleashed
Keta Diablo – Bestselling Author
I Spy A Demon
Marilyn Harlow – Bestselling Author
Demons Are A Girl’s Best Friend
Gracen Miller – Bestselling Author
Hex
Michelle Scott – Bestselling Author
The Demon’s Prisoner
Katherine Smits – Bestselling Author
Siren Descending
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I Spy a Demon
by
Keta Diablo
Award-Winning Bestselling Author
@ketadiablo
by
Keta Diablo
Award-Winning Bestselling Author
@ketadiablo
Tagline 1: Cecily’s beloved twin, Calder, did not die in a car accident. If it’s her last act in life, she’ll uncover the truth. And someone will pay.
Tagline 2: Cecily is all alone in the world now that her beloved twin, Calder, died. The family that raised her knows how he died, and it wasn’t in a car accident. With her last breath, she’ll uncover the truth, and someone will pay.
When
twins Cecily and Calder Sizemore’s parents are killed in a car accident they
are taken in by Gus and Mae Frost. Raised like family by the Frosts, Cecily’s
feelings for their son, Marcel, evolve into anything but sisterly as the years
pass.
Cecily
always knew something was amiss in the Frost household. Little things belied
the calm, peaceful ambiance Mae did her best to portray. Calder tried to warn
her things were not as they appeared, but she didn’t want to believe him. But
when Calder begs her to leave Des Moines, start a new life away from the
secrets, away from the Frosts and away from Marcel, she follows his advice and
shatters her heart in the process.
Now she’s been called home for her beloved brother's funeral. There's more to
the story than meets the eye. Discrepancies in how Calder died lead her to
believe it wasn’t a car accident. And she's not returning to Minnesota until
she uncovers the truth.
She’ll have to face Marcel again—the boy who stole her heart when she was
eight, the man whose very presence turns her blood to liquid fire, and the man
who walks the earth as if he owns every piece of it. He’s always played his
cards close to his chest, but this time, he’s underestimated her dogged
tenacity. She’ll find out what really happened to Calder, even if it’s her last
act in life.
Chapter
One
"We therefore commit Calder Sizemore's
body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust...."
The cloying scents of damp earth and white
lilies spiraled up Cecily's nose. Overhead, a pitiless sun bore down on
the mourners gathered around her brother's casket—familiar faces she’d known
forever, lived with and loved. She fought back the bile rising in her throat
and prayed the minister would come to the end of the service before her knees
buckled.
To her left, stood Mae Frost, her mother's best
friend and the woman who had raised her and Calder after their parents died. As
if Mae could read her thoughts, the woman squeezed her hand, an unspoken sign
of moral support and unconditional love. She would expect nothing less
from Mae, and had received nothing less for the past twenty years. If Mae's husband,
Gus, were here, she would receive the same outpouring of love from him. In
essence, Gus was in attendance, not above the ground but below. And now Calder
would rest beside the man through all eternity.
"And so, shall we ever be with the
Lord."
Dear God, when will he say 'Amen?
She stared at the burgundy coffin with its
hideous spray of red roses, yellow lilies and white orchids while a thousand
questions tore through her brain. How could she go on without Calder, the other
half of her soul, her womb mate, the one person who had always been there
through the highs and lows of her life? What was he doing in St. Louis when he
died and who was with him at the end? She had to know what kind of accident had
taken his life.
That's the word Mae used—accident—when she
called her in Minnesota to deliver the dreadful news. 'We've booked a morning
flight to Des Moines,' she'd said. 'The ticket is in your name and waiting for
you at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport, Delta Airlines ticket counter.' Numb
with shock and grief, Cecily had pressed Mae for details but the woman
circumvented her question. Why should she be surprised? The entire Frost family
held Masters’ Degrees when it came to dodging and ducking topics they didn’t
wish to discuss. ‘We’ll be waiting for you at the airport when you arrive,”
she’d said and then ended their conversation.
Zombie-like, Cecily had packed her luggage and
drove through the night from Gull’s Landing— the picturesque resort town where
she lived—to the Minneapolis airport. During the three-hour drive, she'd saturated
an entire box of Kleenex with a gazillion tears and relived every precious
moment of her and Calder’s childhoods—the death of their parents, the
extravagant Christmases after the Frosts took them in, the luxurious summer
vacations, but most of all, the cross-your-heart-hope-to-die secrets no one but
twins would share.
Her gaze wandered from the casket to the
pallbearers standing opposite her— Chad and Will, friends from high school,
Travis and Chris, college buddies, and, of course, Elliott and Marcel Frost,
Mae and Gus' sons. And the boys she and Calder had shared a home with most of
their lives. The brothers stood over six-feet tall now with broad shoulders and
rock-hard bodies. Gym-rats Mae called them. Anyone with sight could see they
were no longer boys, but hot-blooded, virile males most men envied and every
woman on God’s peachy earth drooled over.
Her pseudo-brothers shared the same grey eyes
and midnight hair, but there the similarities ended. Elliott, two years younger
than Marcel, was leaner than his brother and kept his dark hair short and
neatly trimmed. He looked more like Mae with his oval face, round, inquisitive
eyes and soft, full lips.
Marcel was the mirror image of his father, Gus,
in the man's younger days. Marcel's hair, gleaming now beneath the hot
rays of sun, fell in a wild tumble of ebony waves to his white shirt collar.
His features were sharp, all angles and planes, from the high cheekbones to the
straight nose, to the strong jaw with a cleft smack dab in the middle. Cecily's
gaze lingered on his mouth…that wicked, wicked mouth she'd kissed so many times
and had tried so hard to forget.
Their eyes met and held. His reminded her of a
storm-tossed sea, dark and turbulent. He couldn't look into hers right now,
thank God. The sunglasses she'd donned this morning—after crying all night— hid
the red rims and the swollen lids that made her cousin to a puffer fish.
She looked away from Marcel when a veil of pain
descended on his beautiful face. She couldn't deal with his anguish and hers
right now. Nor could she trust him, had never wholly trusted him. The man
harbored secrets, deep, dark secrets only a select few were privy to, and she
and Calder were not among the privileged.
Marcel must have thought her dimwitted not to
notice the late-night trips, some that lasted for days. Did he think she hadn't
noticed the cuts, scrapes and bruises on his sculpted body when he joined her
in bed? For a long time, she thought he belonged to an underground fight club,
but why would he hide that from her? No, she'd concluded long ago; he didn't
spend his days and nights in a boxing ring. Locked rooms in the house, covert
phone calls and whispered conversations had nothing to do with boxing.
Elliott was involved, of that she was certain,
but what about Calder? Surely, he would have told her, boasted about solving
the mystery of the locked doors, the secretive getaways and low-voiced
discussions. She had remained close with her brother, albeit by phone,
after she moved to Minnesota two years ago, and yet…a niggling sense of unease
washed over her thinking back on their conversations now.
When she asked Calder about his life, why did
he gloss over details, filling their conversations with meaningless tidbits of
banal activity? 'I picked up my dry cleaning today', he would say. Or, 'I
washed the car and hit the gym tonight.' When she pressed her brother about
work or his recent love life, he slithered around her questions with vague
responses. He’d become just like the Frosts in this regard. “There's nothing
too exciting about driving limos, and as for my love life, I'm not ready for a
white picket fence in the burbs.'
Her heart cried out for answers. She had the
distinct feeling Calder's death and the Frost brothers' secrets were connected.
Her hope fell like sails caught up in a squall if she thought to get those
answers from Marcel. She had a better chance of winning the lottery. He'd
always held his cards close to his chest, walled his emotions from the outside
world. It would take a great deal of cunning and perseverance on her part to
get to the truth. If he thought to put her off again, shoo her back to
Minnesota without as much as plausible explanation, he was wrong…dead wrong.
She wouldn't run this time, not until she found out the truth about how and why
Calder had died.
The minister's voice broke into her dismal
thoughts. "And so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one
another with these words. Amen."
With heads bowed, their hands still clasped
together, the mourners dispersed. Elliott still stood beside Marcel and visibly
winced when his brother reached out and touched the coffin for the last time.
Cecily’s heart fractured for the thousandth time that day.
"Come along, dear," Mae said, still
clutching her hand. "Everyone will be at the house soon for
refreshments."
"You go ahead, Mae. I'll meet you at the
car in a moment."
Elliott's eyes darted left to right and Marcel
lifted his head when she stepped forward and spoke. "What was Calder doing
in St. Louis?"
Elliott lowered his voice. "Why don't we
talk about this later?"
Her answer came hard and fast. "No, let's
talk about it now."
Elliott put his hand on his brother's shoulder.
"I'll wait in the car for you, bro."
She waited until his footsteps faded before she
pinned Marcel with a lethal glare. Too bad he couldn't see it behind her
shades. "Enlighten me, Marcel."
"It was just a weekend get-away." He
ran his hands through the hair at his forehead. "St. Louis hosts several
fourth of July celebrations every year, Riverfest, Fair St. Louis…." His
voice dwindled on a heavy sigh.
Lord help her, could she even say the words?
"What happened, how did Calder die?"
"Car accident." He blew air through
his lips. "Calder made a late-night beer run and…and…the sheriff said he
spied tracks from a deer sprinting at top speed across the dirt road. Calder
must have swerved to avoid the animal and hit a tree."
"Was he alone in the car?"
Marcel gave a slow nod, but the flicker in his
eyes contradicted the head motion. He must not know she'd memorized his body
language and every nuance eons ago. A tug at the corner of his mouth meant he
was happy, a tic in his jaw, irritated. But truth and lies walk a thin line and
both resided behind those luminous orbs at the moment.
"Who made the decision to seal the casket
before I arrived?"
"Me. I didn't want to put you
through…wanted you to remember him in life. Both Mom and the coroner
concurred."
She blew a huff or air. "Yeah? Well, you,
Mae and the coroner are not his next of kin."
Anger laced his words. "I did it for you,
Cecily."
This time, his eyes didn't lie. "So, who
identified—?"
"Me." His face blighted by pain, his
voice guttered like a candle flame. "I identified him for the mortuary in
St. Louis, before they shipped his body home.” The seconds ticked by while he
held her stare. At last, he spoke. "You got something to say, Cecily, say
it."
Every bone in her body ached, not like
when she had the flu, but rather a dull pain in the deepest part of her marrow.
If she lived to be one hundred, she'd never get used to the aberrant discomfort
that took flight in her bones when something in her world was off. "I do
have something to say. Call it intuition, but something reeks here."
Palms up, Marcel’s hands came out at his sides.
Translation—a defiant stance that meant she was getting under his skin.
"Look, I don't know what your internal truth compass is pointing to, but
it's like I said. Now, why don't you run back to your cozy little life of tea
leaves and tarot cards in that quaint little resort town you live in and get on
with your perfect little life with your perfect little boyfriend?"
How the hell does he know about Leif? Mae, of
course. Mae must tell him everything. "You'd like that, for me to just go
away, wouldn't you? Not this time, Marcel, not when every short hair on my arms
and at the nape of my neck is standing at attention, not when my gut roils in
protest at the words coming out of your mouth. Twins know things about
one another, things others can't possibly understand because they've never
known such a bond. My soul would be at peace if I thought Calder died from a
freak accident." She lifted her chin. "So, tell me, why is it so
restless?"
Resignation laced his words. "I don't know
what your soul thinks any more than I know what your heart thinks. I'm pretty
sure we established that when you left for Minnesota, you know; when you walked
away from me without as much as a backward glance."
His words stung because he spoke the truth. She
had run, away from him, away from everything they once shared, but now she was
back and she wouldn't leave until she knew the truth about Calder—knew the
truth about Marcel and Elliott. "I'm not running this time, not until I
know what happened to my brother. I don't care how long it takes or what I have
to go through to get the truth." She pivoted on her heels, speaking over
her shoulder, "Get used to seeing me around, Marcel."
* * *
A dozen cars lined the large circular driveway
when Cecily and Mae arrived at her childhood home. The limo came to a halt and
Cecily prayed to the ceiling. It’s almost over. Please help me hold it
together. The driver opened her door. She stepped out, scanned the old
Victorian and a montage of memories flooded her brain.
A different cemetery, another time. A throng of
people dressed in black surrounded her parents’ graves. Snowflakes fell from
the sky causing her to shiver. She gripped Calder’s hand tighter and asked
where they would live now. He pointed to a tall man with wide shoulders and a
kind face. The woman standing beside him was adorned in black, hat, dress, even
the long veil covering her face. Two boys with dark hair, not much older than
her and Calder, fidgeted beside the man and woman.
When the service ended, the adults walked over
to them. He spoke first. ‘My name is Gus and this is Mae. We’re friends of your
mommy and daddy.’ The woman smiled like an angel and knelt in the snow. Cecily
wondered if her knees would freeze. ‘How would you like to come and live with
us now?’ Her sweet, soft voice reminded her of Glinda's, The Good Witch of the
North, from the Wizard of Oz. A wink competed with her smile. ‘I’m a little
outnumbered with all these boys and I could use a little help keeping them in
line, Cecily, dear. Hmm, what do you say?’
‘Why won’t they let me see Mommy and Daddy?”
She had said. “I want to kiss them goodbye.’
Gus cupped his hand and held it before her.
‘Close your eyes and think of the best memory you have of them. Can you do
that?'
‘Yes.’
‘Good, good. Now open them. We’re going to
capture that memory and put it in here.’ He nodded toward his hand. ‘Ah-ha! I
have it now. When we get to our house in Des Moines, I’ll put it in a box for
you. Then all you have to do is lift the lid whenever you miss them and the
memory will appear.’
Sometime during the long drive to Des Moines,
she had fallen asleep. She awoke the next morning in a strange bed, in a
strange room in a very strange, enormous house.
Mae’s voice brought her back from her childhood
memories. “Charles, put the car in the garage and do come in for a bite to
eat.” She turned to Cecily, her eyes misty. “You look more like your mother
every day.”
“From the pictures I’ve seen, I’ll take that as
a compliment.” She paused and looked at the clouds overhead. “I wish I'd known
her better, and yet, so often, I still feel her near.”
“She’s here, I’m sure of it, and she was very
beautiful. Her hair wasn’t as blonde as yours, and her eyes were blue…sky
blue.”
A stab of pain pierced her heart. “Calder used
to say my hair was almost as white as cotton and my eyes….” The pain returned
at the mention of his name. She stumbled on the words. “He said…he said I was
part chameleon; sometimes my eyes were purple, sometimes blue.”
Mae took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Only
a man would call violet purple. You going to be okay, darling?”
She nodded. Yes, but I’ll be better when this
day ends.”
“Me too, dear, me too.”
John
Creasy from Man On Fire. This character is played by Denzel
Washington in the move and I have watched it many times over. Based on the
1980 novel of the same name by A. J. Quinnell, this is an intense,
action-packed book and movie set in Mexico. It’s themed around the many kidnappings
that happen in Mexico, this particular book and movie involving the kidnapping
of a child. John Creasy is a man tormented by his own demons from his sins of
the past. He was an assassin and is most definitely a bad-ass character. When
the child, Pita, played by Dakota Fanning, is kidnapped, as her bodyguard,
Creasy means to make everyone pay who was involved in her abduction. If you
haven’t seen the movie or read the book, I highly recommend it if you love
tortured heroes, violence, vengeance, and adoration between a child and her
bodyguard.
What is your most treasured possession?
Without
the slightest inkling of a doubt, my family.
If you could choose to be a character in a book, who would it be?
This
is a great question and an easy one for me to answer. Since my favorite book of
all time is To Kill A Mockingbird, I would like to be Scout. All of
the characters in this novel were well developed and grew in strength and
integrity by the end of the book. But Scout was the anchor of all the characters.
I would label her as an ‘old soul’. She was wise beyond her years, yet without
even realizing it, revealed the prejudice and hatred the town folk held against
the black community in the town. Scout was curious like a cat, always asking
questions to learn more. She was kind to everyone and looked beyond their
disabilities or shortcomings. Not only with the African Americans but with Boo
Radley, who obviously suffered with mental disabilities. Scout was just the
perfect narrator for this wonderful novel and through her personality brought
out all the good and bad of all the other characters.
Which book have you read the most in your lifetime?
Other
than To Kill A Mockingbird, I read a booked called The
Windflower by Laura London (actually a husband a wife team by the name
of Sharon and Tom Curtis). This is a pirate novel where an innocent young woman
finds herself kidnapped and held on among some pretty rough seafarers. There is
a lot of humor in this story, and some great twists at the end. No one is who
you think they are, but you find out their true identities at the time. The
writing was clever and very descriptive, although I suppose some would say
filled with purple prose. I happened to like the details and think the fit a
book set on the high-seas very well. I laugh over the heroine’s antics and
naivete every time I read The Windflower. If you like historical romance with
out-of-the-box characters and adventure on the high seas, you’ll like this book.
What is your favorite journey?
I
haven’t taken it yet. Lord, please give me enough time on earth to visit every
state in this great country and do it by RV – a plush, luxurious RV. That’s
quite a goal, isn’t it?
What is your favorite quotation?
“Do
Not Be Afraid.”
This
appears in the Bible 365 times. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. It’s a
daily reminder from God to live every day of your life being fearless.
Dogs or Cats?
I
cannot choose. I love all animals the same. Even the little spider. For some
strange reason, I have it in my head that every living creature has a soul. My
furry companion, Emma LaPounce, has been with me for ten years now. She’s
getting old (like me). When I rescued her from the shelter, she didn’t like me
much. She didn’t like any human much after her family moved out of town, took
their furniture and left her behind. I’d visit her once a week, and she pretty
much turned her nose up at me, or drooled all over me and shed hair like crazy.
The vet said this was because she was so stressed out about being left. I had a
little talk with Emma. I said, “You’re coming home with me. I promise to take
very good care of you and I’ll never desert you.” We’ve been bonded at the hip
every since and she’s brought a lot of joy into my life. I’d like to think I’ve
brought a lot of love and security into hers.
What do you most value in a friend?
Loyalty,
Truth and Staying power.
Which book that you’ve written is your favorite?
Where
the Rain Is Made because I have a personal connection to that book
with my youngest son. When he was 12, he was obsessed with the Native American
way of life. We spent hours and hours in the library studying the different
tribes, mostly the Cheyenne dog soldiers. Of course, I took notes, thinking
he’d want them one day. By the time his fascination ebbed some, I had an entire
notebook filled with the customs, beliefs and mythology of the dog soldiers. My
son moved on to another fascination, the Italian mafia, I think. I moved on
with my notebook and decided to write a story about a time wanderer who
traveled back in time to help his beloved People, the Cheyenne. Where
the Rain Is Made was nominated for a Bookie Award by Authors After
Dark and has received many accolades. Update on my son. Now going for his
Master’s Degree in Washington, D.C. and guess what he’s going to be? A college
history professor, of course. Guess all those hours in the library paid off.
What are your writing quirks?
Just
a few quick ones:
Too
many adverbs – those pesky “ly’ words in a book.
He
nodded his head. She shrugged her shoulders.
What
else would he nod? What else would she shrug. Yet we see this all the time in
books.
What do you do as a hobby?
Visit
and support my local animal shelter weekly. Garden – I love flowers, flowers
and more flowers! Read when I have time, mostly thrillers and suspense, and
dabble in genealogy. Although I don’t have much time for tracing the family
trees these days. I’m too busy writing.
How did you come up with the idea for your book?
My
latest story in an anthology to be released in September is called I
Spy A Demon. I’m fascinated by the many different types of demons that
exist in the world (whether fictional or real). I never knew there were so many
until I started reading about them. I also love books about good vs. evil,
light vs. dark. What could be more appropriate when we’re talking about those
themes, Lucifer and his demons good vs. evil?
I
think there’s a lot of readers out there who share my interest in the workings
of the devil, the machinations of demons and good vs. evil (think demon
hunters). At least I hope there are.
What would your friends say is your best quality?
Oh,
boy….this one is tough, but I suppose they would say I’m loyal, have staying
power and I’m truthful – the same things I look for in a friend. They might say
that sometimes I’m too truthful. What they really mean is blunt. I never want
to hurt anyone’s feelings on purpose, but I suppose if you tell it like you see
it (which might not always be right) you run the risk of hurting someone’s
feelings. I hope I don’t do that. k.
Tell us about your other books?
Thank
you for asking. I always love to share my books with others. I write in several
genres (can’t seem to find one that can pin me down). I write paranormal
(usually with a ghost or two), western romance, some contemporary romance (here
I venture into suspense/thriller) and historical erotic romance. I love
history, especially American history of the Wild West and around the time of
the Civil War. But I also like writing about small towns and second-chance,
modern love stories.
I’d love for you to visit my Amazon page and find a genre that
interests you:
Finally, what are we likely to find in YOUR nightstand?
An
eclectic assortment of books. Right now, you’d find:
Orphan
Moon, a young girl and a Texas Ranger
The
Kind Worth Killing, a Thriller
The
Bone Garden,
Tess Gerritssen
Thank
you so much for taking the time to ask me such intriguing questions. This was
fun!
Keta is an award-winning and bestselling author who writes in several genres:
Western Romance, Historical Romance, Paranormal Romance and Contemporary
Romance. In a past life, she wrote Gay Romance. Her books have received
numerous accolades, including RWA contest finalist, Authors After Dark
finalist, Top Pick of the Month and Recommended Review from top review sites,
and Best Romance Finalist from The Independent Author Network.
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