Clouds In My Coffee

  Meatball taster publishing

  Clouds in my Coffee

  Andrea Smith

  Book 2 of the ‘Limbo Series’ takes Parrish Locke to Wyoming and then even further, back to the tumultuous 70’s to help a stalled soul.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  1970's Slang Dictionary

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2014 by Andrea Smith

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted, under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.

  Violation of copyright, by domestic or foreign entities, is punishable by law, which may include imprisonment, a fine, or both.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9904522-8-7 (e-Book)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9904522-9-4 (Paperback)

  Thanks to all of my Beta Readers, and my street team that totally rocks: Andrea’s Angels and the Foot Soldiers!

  A special thank you to my PA., Catherine Wright who does an awesome job of taking care of things so that I can write! You are the best!

  To Erik Gevers, who provides so much feedback, support, monumental patience and who is truly blessed—as am I—to actually have lived (and survived) the tumultuous 70’s, though in different parts of the world!

  Thanks to Christine and Kelley for all of the PR support, and as always my dearest FB friends: Janett, Eva, Amber, Kim, Catherine, Stacie, Janna, S.K., JoJo, Kaylee, Candi, Erica, Christine, DawnMarie, Tiffany, Tracy and of course, Becky!!

  I hope you enjoy Book 2 of this series, because it was a trip for me!

  Cover Design: Kim Black

  Editing: Ashley Blaschak

  Formatting: Erik Gevers

  Prologue

  My name is Parrish Elizabeth Locke and this is my story. I’m twenty-seven years old and single. I do have a significant other. His name is Ryan Van Zant and we live together when we’re in the same zip code, which, up until this point, has not been all that often. Our zip code, by the way, is 10065—that’s Manhattan.

  I’m a model—the photo shoot variety—no strolling the red carpet for me. Ryan is a photo journalist with a nationally acclaimed periodical. He travels; I travel. A lot.

  I’ll try to make this short and sweet—well maybe not sweet considering some of the dark content that is my life. So how about concise?

  You see, I have the ability to see and communicate with ghosts under certain conditions. I actually prefer to call them “stalled souls” because that’s really what they are.

  On one such occasion, in early December, I found myself on an icy road in Chester, West Virginia. Nothing exciting happens in perhaps one of the most obscure places on the planet.

  Except to me.

  That icy road I was driving on? Yeah, it landed me smack dab in the middle of a cemetery. Was it just the icy road? Or was it fate? Who knows, but I did learn quite a few things that night that I never expected to in a place like Chester.

  So, the car accident I was involved in that snowy night comes into play, because in that particular cemetery where I ended up with a banged-up noggin, just happened to have a ghost wandering it. And it wasn’t just any ghost you see; it was the ghost of Karlie Lynn Masterson, my biological mother.

  Yep! ‘Ma’, as I’ve been instructed to call her, was there. And she did what any determined, got-to-get-the-hell-outta-Limbo ghost would do. Her spirit possessed my body so that my knowledge banks would have the necessary information to tie up the loose ends of her life—and her untimely death. We took a trip to the 1980’s and, let me tell you, it was kind of cool.

  I learned that the mother who raised me, Lana Jean Locke, was not my birth mother, but actually Ma’s best friend.

  It seems Lana’s husband, and the man I thought was my father, Walter Locke, had mechanically compromised Karlie’s car so that she would meet her untimely death.

  Of course, Mom—Lana, that is, hadn’t known and I will never tell her because I love her and because she still thinks Walter hung the moon. Walter passed away when I was five years old. I have it on good authority that he’s doing a bit of time in Purgatory, but will eventually cross over.

  As it turns out, my biological father is a former member of a high-profile La Cosa Nostra, or mafia if you will, named Dominic Castellano. He was also the family member who worked with the FBI back in 1987 to bring the family down.

  From there, he went into the Witness Protection Program for a few years until he deemed it safe to leave. He now goes by the name of Nick Parenti and didn’t even know I existed until recently. You see, he and Karlie loved one another like crazy.

  I won’t go into their whole history together, but suffice it to say that through a series of misunderstandings, risks of eminent danger, outside interference and the usual “mob” drama, my biological mother took off, never telling him that she was pregnant with me. They were truly star-crossed lovers—the kind you read about in novels or the ones that operas are written about. I know because I witnessed it firsthand.

  So, having traveled back in time with Ma’s spirit at the wheel provided me with the critical information that allowed me to find my father, Nick Parenti, who lives with his second wife, Sheila, in Park City, Utah, where they own a ski resort.

  It has also allowed my mother and father to tie up some loose ends of their own with respect to their relationship from twenty-eight years ago and has resulted in my Dad actually buying the grave next to hers. If that’s not an indication of their undying devotion to one another, I don’t know what is.

  I’m my father’s only child and he adores me. (Frankly, he’s starting to grow on me as well.)

  Oh, and Sheila?

  Yeah, she’s totally fine with it because her final resting place will be right beside the love of her life, Charlie—her first husband who passed away. So you see, it all worked out and Ma crossed over and now resides
within the pearly gates.

  But that’s not the end of the story. Oh no. That’s where this one begins. You see, my little accident in Chester unleashed a special gift that I’ve always had, but never knew about. It was dormant until that night I banged my head pretty good in the cemetery where Ma had been laid to rest. Ma made lots of friends with the other “stalled souls” or as she refers to them, “Limbonians.” Even though I can’t see Ma anymore in her spiritual form, she still visits me occasionally in my dreams, mostly for the purpose of directing me to a nearby stalled soul for help.

  Yes, I agreed to give this a try for her; using my gift that is, in order to help other stalled souls, because I love her. I know that it means a lot to her that I help them the same way that I helped her—though seriously, I didn’t have much of a choice when she infiltrated my human body as she did.

  She made her first dream appearance just last night, while Ryan and I slept in my new pink bedroom at my father’s house in Park City.

  Ryan and I are here for New Year’s and we had just made mad, passionate love like never before. It’s almost as if Ma’s spirit has awakened some deep sensual passion within me. Ryan has no complaints at all. As I drifted off to sleep, there she was showing off her new look since going to heaven; rocking a new hairstyle that was no longer the 80’s look she had going while in Limbo.

  Anyway, she told me of a stalled soul not too far away it seems—Evanston, Wyoming. The girl’s name is Cecily Adams and Ma provided directions to the cemetery where we’re to meet. It looks like I’ll be taking a trip to the ‘70’s—no pun intended.

  Now, my father is vaguely aware of my gift. Ryan, however, is a different story. I mean, he knows about my mother’s spirit having appeared to me and he hasn’t been skeptical or judgmental about that at all. He is a very open-minded person, and it’s served him very well in his field of photo journalism, but I know he’d worry like hell if I told him about the mission I am preparing to embark on without him.

  So, for now, I only plan to share this with my father. Besides, Ma assured me that I was free to decline any assignment as I saw fit. She also assured me that she could vouch for each and every Limbonian that she sends my way.

  So, maybe I’ll just give this one a shot and see what happens. I mean, I’ve heard that the seventies were kind of far out, you know?

  Chapter 1

  The sun is filtering through the mini-blinds of my ‘Pretty in Pink’ bedroom that Dad and Sheila decorated especially for me. Ryan is wrapped around me and his warm body is making me hot.

  Not the ‘hot’ you’re thinking of; uncomfortably hot is what I’m referring to. My mind drifts back to the night before and all the racket we’d made after I’d moved the two twin beds together that had originally been against opposite walls.

  Ryan and I had fucked like sex-starved maniacs on Ecstasy; I could recall the banging of the wrought-iron headboards against the wall.

  Oh my God.

  I have to face Dad and Sheila this morning and my face flushes warmly with embarrassment. I’m starting to see a pattern here. I recall back to when I came-to in the hospital after my car accident/ghost possession ordeal. I had been extremely horny and verbally suggestive—not concerned at all about who might be in the audience. Last night, that same feeling overwhelmed me.

  Maybe it’s a symptom of ghost energy being in the realm of my aura somehow?

  Geez. Now I’m thinking in supernatural terms!

  I chuckle audibly and Ryan stirs.

  “Hey babe,” he greets me with a yawn. “That was some workout last night. How about a repeat performance?”

  I wriggle out from underneath his arm, wrapping the sheet around me. “I can’t believe you made all that noise,” I say, jumping up from the bed and taking the sheet with me.

  Ryan lays there naked and not caring. Men have no modesty at all. “Me?” he asks, his eyes widening. “You were one wicked wench last night, girl.”

  “Shhh,” I hiss, putting my finger up to my lips. “They’ll hear you, Ryan.”

  He chuckles good-naturedly, getting out of bed and he’s got his swagger goin on as he closes the distance between us. I love his looks. He has thick dark-brown hair and gorgeous green eyes that darken into a sea of lust when we make love.

  “Parrish,” he says, cupping my face in his large hands, “You made enough noise last night to wake up the dead and make them horny.” He shrugs on his boxers. “Wanna share a shower?” he asks, quirking a brow at me.

  I grin because I just can’t help it. “You get it started. I’ll be right there.”

  I grab a robe to put on and some clean clothes for the day. Several minutes later, Ryan and I are lathering each other up in our second shower in less than ten hours under my father’s roof.

  I don’t give the previous night another thought until we’re seated at the breakfast table, wolfing down Sheila’s homemade waffles, which is so not what a model should be eating, when my father joins us.

  “I trust you two slept well last night?” he asks, giving Ryan the evil eye, Italian style, which of course, causes my cheeks to turn as pink as my bedroom walls.

  Sheila places a warm waffle on my father’s plate and a look passes which says, “Let it go, already.”

  “Slept great, sir,” Ryan responds nonchalantly. “Must be the high altitude or something.”

  “And you, Parrish?”

  “It was all good, Dad,” I blubber, my face turning crimson under his gaze.

  And now I have to stop here to tell you that at age fifty-nine, my dad is still a hottie. I mean, through my “episode,” as I call it, when my mother was in the driver’s seat so to speak, and I was a voyeur to certain things in her life, he was seriously smokin’ hot.

  He’s got the whole Italian-look thing goin’ on big-time. Dark eyes, dark hair—well it’s graying at the temples now, but it only makes him more handsome I think. He’s tall and still has a great build for an older dude. He’s kind of serious most of the time, but occasionally he slips up and shows his dry humor and wit.

  I’ve heard that I look like him, but act like Ma. I can live with that. I’m five feet, eight inches tall, with longish dark brown hair that I have highlighted to make it more photo-friendly, as my agent Leonard says. I have my father’s dark brown eyes, straight nose and full lips. In other words, I’m kind of his female clone. Ma was blond, blue-eyed and no taller than five-four.

  “What are your plans for today?” Sheila asks, taking her seat at the table.

  “I’m going to hit the slopes again, I mean if Parrish doesn’t mind,” Ryan pipes up. “Is it okay with you?”

  “Sure,” I reply, glad that he’ll be otherwise occupied so that I can focus on my trip to Evanston, “I have other plans anyway.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ryan and my dad both say at once.

  Shit.

  How do I explain this without explaining it?

  “Yeah—there’s an acquaintance of my mother’s in Evanston, Wyoming. She thought maybe it would be nice if I stopped by for a visit as long as I’m so close.”

  “Sounds like a plan then,” Ryan replies, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’d go with you but I’ve got a conference call later on with Cassie to de-brief for my upcoming assignment.”

  “Cassie?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan, says, “I told you about her. She’s the new photo journalist I’ve been mentoring. We’re doing that wilderness layout in the Canadian Rockies, remember?”

  “Vaguely,” I reply, sipping my coffee.

  “Hey, the rental has GPS so just plug the address in and you’ll be fine. I mean I can skip the slopes if you really need me to go with you, babe.”

  Truthfully, I wanted to go alone. “No, really, Ryan. I wouldn’t hear of it. Enjoy yourself, I won’t be gone long.”

  Later on, after Ryan left for the slopes with Sheila, my dad comes up to my room, knocking softly on the door. “Parrish, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  “Sure. Come on in.”
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  He enters the room and I know he wants more information on my excursion to Evanston. I’m able to read him pretty well and it seems as if the same applies to him with me.

  “Parrish, this acquaintance of your mother’s—would that be your mother here?”

  As on Earth.

  I turn from the mirror where I’d been brushing out my hair to face him.

  He knows.

  “She came to me last night. Just like she said she would. She came to me in my dreams. She needs me to use...my gift. There’s a stalled soul. That’s why I have to go to Evanston...to the grave.”

  He is at my side in an instant, pulling me to my feet. “You’re not going alone,” he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. “I may not understand the full scope of this gift you have, but I’m going with you to make sure that you’re not in any danger.”

  “I won’t argue with you, Dad, trust me. This is kind of my solo flight after all.”

  “Which begs the question as to why your . . . boyfriend didn’t insist upon accompanying you.”

  I can see that he is looking for reasons not to like Ryan and it’s a bit comical that this has just surfaced, since he undoubtedly heard our raunchy play last night.

  “Ryan doesn’t know about my gift. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug and turn away from him as I get my coat out of the closet. “I don’t know how to explain it for one; and I guess I don’t want him thinking I’m some kind of…of…freak maybe.”

  My father takes my coat, holding it up so that he is helping me on with it. He’s a perfect gentleman for sure. “Bambolina, it’s nothing to be ashamed of - this gift that you have.”

  “I know that, I do. But, it’s new to me and I need to get my own brain wrapped around it before I share it with anyone else. Does that make sense?”

  “It does as long as that’s your true reason, Parrish, and it’s not something else.”

  For not knowing me long, he certainly knows me well enough.

  Yes, I am afraid of what Ryan might think. I’m afraid he’ll think I’m nuts or, at the very least, he’ll have some concerns about what type of DNA would prompt such a physiological—or maybe it’s psychological—aberration in me. I do need to process this for myself, that part is true. My dad is the only one for the time being that I trust with this knowledge.