Roxanne's Ghost Saga,
a new mystery series from internationally acclaimed author Maggie Tideswell, is set against the
stunningly beautiful backdrop of modern day South Africa. It is a compelling
ghost story of identical twin sisters’ love for the same man, and the magical
connection the women share.
And the theme? Nothing
is what it seems.
Here, we move into the realms of the
mists of time that could either reveal or conceal.
Book 1, Goodbye, My Love, sets the scene.
It introduces country vet, Ben, his four-year-old autistic daughter and the
would-be nanny, Jessica James. Jess’ interview with Ben for the nanny position
takes place on Friday the 13th. An attraction between the two is immediate,
which by all accounts isn't entirely normal.
Ben's three oddball sisters-in-law
descend on him for the anniversary of his wife Roxanne's death. They try to
convince Ben that Roxanne isn't dead, more than likely to put an end to
whatever might develop between Ben and Jessica. But Ben knows that no one could
have survived what led to Roxanne’s death.
His daughter, diagnosed as autistic, only
sometimes does she display the symptoms that led to her diagnosis. Autism is
not a disease, it's a condition. A condition with symptoms that can't be
turned on and off at will. So…what is the child really suffering from?
Ben's wife's twin sister, Millicent, is
accompanied by an over-board caricature of a psychic to Ben's home in
order to help them find Roxanne. Of course, Millicent isn't happy to find Jess
already in Ben's house—trouble is imminent. But only as far as Ben's ancient
housekeeper, will allow her to. What does the housekeeper know that will keep
Millicent's ruffled feathers under control?
More importantly…
Where is Roxanne?
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
Does anyone live here?
The house looked
deserted, kind of spooky. Jess couldn’t see any other houses nearby. Sally had
not been kidding—this was a rather isolated place.
Dilapidated
outbuildings behind the sprawling house looked as unused as the house itself.
Some sort of creeper covered most of the buildings except the house—it looked
far too fragile to bear the added weight.
There were what
looked like turrets on each end of the house, and a domed one in between. That
might be a skylight. Jess worried her bottom lip. What century was this place
built?
Lightning played over
the majestic mountains behind the house, silhouetting it against the darkening
sky, but down here in the valley, the late sun cast long shadows over the
overgrown garden.
It all fit so well
with Friday the thirteenth, because this was creepy. What had she been
thinking? She should have postponed the interview until Monday. One weekend
surely wouldn’t have made that much of a difference.
Jess studied the map
on her tablet, which she held propped up against the steering wheel. This could be the right place, but she had
thought that about both the previous two places, and neither had turned out to be
Weltevreden. Neither had been as eerie as this place, either.
No, this couldn’t be
it. Tapping her finger against the edge of the tablet, she studied the house
again. This whole thing smacked of a Friday the thirteenth Sally-prank.
Sally, her bestie
since high school, ran a very successful employment agency. The professional
image notwithstanding, she still loved pranks of any kind—she would never
outgrow them.
Her eyes had lit up
that morning when Jess sat in front of her desk, mugs of coffee steaming on the
polished wood between them. The platter of doughnuts had been for Jess’
benefit. Sally and her perpetual dieting.
“Something
different,” Sally mused, tapping her pen against her front teeth, then pressed
a button on her laptop, and reached for the sheet of paper the printer spewed
out. “This might be just the thing. It came in just now.” She’d tossed her
platinum curls over her shoulder, grinning at Jess.
Another thing Sally
would never outgrow, her Barbie-doll looks.
“It has my name on it,
then.” Jess leaned her forearms on Sally’s desk. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
She grinned back, barely able to contain her excitement. “Does it involve a
man?”
Neither Sally nor
Jess had found their Mr. Full Potential
yet, although both had been ready for wedded bliss, the kids and the house in
the suburbs thing, a long time ago.
“As a matter of fact
it does, but he doesn’t seem to be in the market. It says here that a nanny is
required for a four-year-old autistic girl. Dr. Arnold specifically requested
that only older women be put forward for the position.”
“How
old-fashioned. Where is this job?”
“In
the Wellington area.” Sally frowned at the monitor.
“There you go. He
won’t find anybody qualified to work that far from Cape Town. It is his child,
I presume?”
“It is, but do you
seriously want to give this a go?” Sally looked worried as only she could. It
went with the Barbie look. “I’m
intrigued. What kind of doctor is he?”
“A veterinary
surgeon. And a widower, it says here. That is all the information I have for
you, I’m afraid.” Sally sat back in her chair. “I shouldn’t disregard so
specific an instruction, Jess, but
just this once, I’ll make an exception. Then it’s up to you to change his mind
for him. It’ll be in his own best interest in the end.” She passed an
information sheet across the desk. “I’ll tell Dr. Arnold to expect you at four.
I’d pack an overnight bag if I were you. Call me, okay?”
Now, sitting in front
of the house that might or might not belong to Dr. Ben Arnold, Jess didn’t feel
all that confident anymore. And it didn’t really sound like a prank, unless
Sally had kept some information to herself.
There was only one
way to find out, and that was to knock on the door and ask.
If
there was anybody in the house to ask.
Switching the engine
off, she consulted the rear-view mirror to apply some color to her lips and pat
her shoulder length bob into place. She took a moment to admire the rich auburn
color in the late afternoon sunshine and sighed.
I don’t know about this. It was a long way from Cape Town.
What
did people do around here for fun?
Trying her best to
ignore the goose bumps on her forearms, she opened the car door and stepped
out. Her heels sank into the gravel, her shadow stretching all the way back to
the gate.
Only when she turned
toward the house did she see the man sitting on the top step in the shadows,
his shoulder against the railing, one knee pulled up with his arm resting on
top of it. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and it looked as if his feet were bare,
too.
Was he there a moment ago? Why didn’t I see him?
Smoothing her palms
down her red pencil skirt, she started toward the house and the man on the steps.
If he wasn’t Dr. Arnold, maybe he could give her directions.
Taking a deep breath,
Jess reminded herself that she wasn’t superstitious about this Friday the
thirteenth nonsense. People liked to scare themselves with the silliest things.
What was supposed to happen on this day? It was a day like any other.
That certainly looked
like a real man on the steps. He wasn’t going to bite her. Today being a Friday
and the thirteenth meant nothing, but now that she’d thought of it, the idea
would stick with her like the taste of garlic.
Leaving the car door
open for a quick escape should she need it, she’d gone no more than a few steps
when she heard something other than the crunch of her shoes on the gravel. It
sounded suspiciously like a dog whining.
She slowly turned her
head, curling her fingers into the fabric of her skirt. It couldn’t be a dog.
She hadn’t seen any dogs when she drove through the gate.
I don’t do dogs!
Her breath hitched in
her throat when she saw them. They were right next to her car, beside the door
she’d deliberately left open, a whole pack of them. Their lips curled away from
their teeth, their tongues lolling out the sides of their mouths, dripping
saliva onto the gravel. Yellowish eyes watched every move she made.
Where did they come from?
How many were there?
They
cut her off from the safety of the Fiesta!
Now she had only one
way to go—into that house. Why hadn’t that man called them off? Why wasn’t he helping her?
Slowly, making no
sudden moves, she took another step toward the porch. The dogs followed her.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Another couple of quick steps toward the
house. The dogs did the same. She broke into a trot, her scream shattered the
still of the afternoon.
Missing the first
step, she stumbled, recovered her balance, and took the rest of the stairs two
at a time. The dogs were on her heels, whining and yelping, their breaths hot
on the backs of her legs.
Just as a sharp
whistle rent the air, but looking at the dogs, she careened into the man before
the noise had even died down. Her momentum sent them both crashing to the
floorboard. She landed on top of him, but with the dogs all around them, she
hid her face in his neck. Another whistle— right in her ear—made her cringe,
but the dogs were gone.
He lifted his head
off the floorboards to glare at her, his hands at her waist, as if he was about
to lift her off him. Stubble covered his jaw, his lips pressed into a tight
line. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He dragged his eyes out of her gaping
blouse to meet her stare.
They had to be the
greenest pair of eyes she’d ever seen, and he was clearly not amused.
Then she noticed how
much leg was exposed by her skirt bunched around her hips and she quickly
scrambled to her feet, pushing her skirt back down her legs.
“Sorry,” she muttered,
her face on fire. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but from the
corner of her eye, she saw the stranger slowly unfold himself from the floor. Up
and up he went, until she felt him looking down at her. Even in her heels, the
top of her head barely reached his nose.
With fists on his
hips, he glared at her. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she lifted her chin
and stared back.
Despite her bravado,
she was intimidated and she had no idea if she had reason to be. She didn’t
have a clue who he was. For all she knew, he was a vagrant taking advantage of
an abandoned house.
She quickly looked
him up and down, hoping he wouldn’t notice. A vagrant—looking like that? This
man looked too strong, too well-fed, and clean, to be homeless. He smelled good
too, of soap and sunshine. Wide shoulders tapered to a flat stomach and slim
hips in a pair of well-washed denim cutoffs. The button was undone and the
zipped half down. And he had a hard-on!
Jess swallowed with
difficulty, forcing her eyes to the garden. Maybe he was the gardener or
something.
If he was the
gardener, he wasn’t very good at it, judging by the state of the place. The
flowerbeds were overgrown with weeds, and grass seeds reached for the sky. With
a bit of care, it could be a rather pleasant garden.
Her attention whipped
back to the man when he spoke. “What’s wrong with you, woman? Those are lap
dogs.” His voice was deep, the timbre vibrating on her skin. “They thought you
were playing with them.”
She’d forgotten about
the dogs. Erections did that to her, they made her forget everything else. She
took another look at the animals. There were only four of them, and now that
they were at a safe distance and there was a man on hand whom they seemed to
obey, they didn’t look all that fierce, or even very big. By panicking, she’d
unnecessarily gotten them both in a rather embarrassing situation.
The veranda was
shadowed, despite the lightning dancing over the mountains, yet the peeling
paint was clearly visible. She should ask this man for directions so that she
could be on her way, but at that moment her nose itched and she sneezed
instead. She just barely managed to get her hand across her nose. The dust from
the floorboards, and she most likely had it all over her face now. She needed
to freshen up before she met with Dr. Arnold. Rubbing her hands over her face
was probably making matters worse.
“Bless you,” the man
said, his jaw clenched. “Explain yourself.” Fists planted on his hips, his bare
chest rose and fell. Jess’ fingers itched to test the contours more fully
before she realized that the man was actually angry.
Who was he? And what was he so angry about?
Knocking him over had been an accident, which he could have avoided it if he’d
controlled the animals sooner. His annoyance didn’t stop him from giving her a
thorough inspection, though.
Barely suppressing
the urge to stamp her foot, Jess snapped, “Those animals should be locked up.”
The hand she pointed at the dogs was streaked with dust. Dropping it, she
rubbed at the smudge with her other hand.
“They were, until a
few minutes ago. When the visitor I expected didn’t show up, I let them out
again. Who are you and what do you want?”
“How rude!” Jess
gasped. “Do you welcome all visitors half naked?” His arousal was disturbing
her.
“Uninvited visitors
never come into the yard,” he growled. He knew she knew about his condition.
“That’s what the clinic entrance is for. And I’m not half naked, I’m shirtless
because I took it off when my visitor failed to show up for her four o’clock
appointment. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s hot. If you’re Jessica James,
you’re way too late—”
“The directions weren’t
very clear,” she interrupted. “I got lost.” Hesitating only a moment, she stuck
her hand out to him. “You’re Dr. Arnold?”
He ignored her hand
and question, reaching instead for the shirt draped over the railing behind him
and shrugged it on. Doctor or not, the man
has no manners.
Buttoning the shirt,
he leaned in closer. “So, it’s my fault you can’t follow a set of simple
instructions? Look, miss, you might as well go back to wherever you came from.
The position has been filled. Good day.” He started to turn away.
“What?
When? I had an interview for this afternoon!”
He glanced at his
wristwatch. “You missed the appointment. You wouldn’t have gotten the job
anyway. Sorry for the inconvenience. It was nice meeting you. Goodbye, Ms.
James.”
She noticed his eyes
on her lips as he dismissed her. “Just a minute. You’re going to disregard my
application because I’m a few minutes late? I have excellent credentials, and
the agency—”
“Had
been told that only older women need to apply.”
“So
you’re dismissing my application because of my age, is that it?”
“Yes. And you’re more
than a few minutes late. The appointment was for four o’clock sharp, and it’s
nearly six now. Take your gripes up with your agent, Ms. James. Your
timekeeping actually has very little to do with it. Now, if you’ll excuse me,
you’re wasting my time.”
Jess narrowed her
eyes. “I pity the person you’ve employed, if that is in fact the truth. You are
a very rude man,
Dr.
Arnold.”
He wasn’t exactly
what she’d expected—in his early to mid-thirties and attractive, in a wildly
blond caveman kind of way. And hot.
If
only he had some manners.
It had sounded quite
romantic when Sally first told her about this position, but the reality was far
from romantic. She didn’t need this man or his job, and especially not his
erection. There had to be other positions available in Cape Town. Sally would
find her a good job, with interesting work. She would get into her car and
drive away without a backward glance.
Not being given a
fair interview had nothing to do with Friday the thirteenth. A damp gust of
wind blew her hair into her eyes as she turned toward the stairs. It had
everything to do with him being turned on by her.
Jess remembered the
dogs when they jumped to their feet, tails wagging.
She froze, clutching
her skirt. They might be small, but they were dogs. They had teeth.
Damn it, she was going to need his help to get back to her car. Gnawing the
corner of her mouth, she glanced at him. Would he help her, or would he cross
his arms and enjoy the spectacle from the veranda?
Before she could do
anything, the door behind them creaked open and pale, gnarled fingers curled
around the edge of the wood. Jess took an involuntary step closer to the
doctor, goosebumps covering her entire body, her hand to her throat. Oh,
God.
Maggie lives in Johannesburg, South
Africa with hubby Gareth. Over the years she’s worked in everything from
nursing to catering, and then she started writing love stories. With three
kids, a girl and two boys, and eleven cats at that time, life could become
quite interesting.
The paranormal, things that happen
for which there are no logical explanations and ghosts, are of particular
interest to Maggie. What events in a person’s life would prevent that person from
‘resting’ after death? The ‘Old Religion’ is another special interest.
And
love, of course. Why do people fall in love? What keeps them together for a
lifetime when so many relationships fail?
