Grave Promises: The Promise Series, #1

By C.K.Alber

This Romantic Suspense novel, is about death, love, and resolving the past before the future can be understood. When danger comes for Cassie and Michael, despite their secrets, they must learn to work together or die. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.K.Alber
• Release date: Dec 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781736283929

Book preview

Grave Promises

A novel by

C.K. Alber

Grave Promises

Published by C.K. Alber, 2020

Digital Edition

Edited by Lori Corsentino

Cover Design ©2020 by Lori Corsentino/Harmony Creative Design

Image: Slay19, Cookiestudio/Bigstock Photo

Copyright ©2020 by C.K. Alber

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, businesses, institutions, or locales is coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the author’s permission, except in the case of brief quotations or short excerpts embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

The first edition, Broken Promises, is being replaced with this second edition, Grave Promises. The basic storyline is intact, but a significant amount of the story has been updated and changed.

Piracy of copyrighted materials is a violation of the author’s rights. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Support the arts and literature created by hardworking authors by purchasing a legitimate copy through authorized distributors. Thank you.

C.K. Alber

Visit my website at www.ckalber.com

Printed in the United States of America

Grave Promises/C.K. Alber – Second Edition: December, 2020

Broken Promises/C.K. Alber – First Edition: June 2018

ISBN: 978-1-7362839-2-9

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

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

Dedication

To me—my family is my everything. I would like to dedicate this book to my daughters—Jeanie Marie, Cynthia Ann, and Donna Caterina. Your accomplishments, courage, sacrifices, determination, and love for everything human and humane have molded you into the beautiful women you are. You have always been in my heart since the day you were born. I can laugh with you and above all—dream with you. Love you three to the moon and back.

In my life, you are the sun that never fades and the moon that never wanes.

Author unknown

Chapter 1

June 1974

Arlington, Virginia

C

assandra Algani stood in the doorway and surveyed the remnants of a life recently vacated. A dusty side table lit by an art deco lamp. The half empty package of cigarettes. A watch, still ticking. Tears stung her eyes as her gaze lingered on the pillow. His pillow.

Why couldn’t we just resolve our fears? What happened to us, dad?

Death— her voice broke as the cold shock of reality set in. Death— she repeated, shivering as the word threatened to shatter the tenuous hold she had on her grief. Death is such a permanent end, she whispered, taking the gut-wrenching blow, along with the raw flash of heat her guilt brought.

The front door banged from below, breaking her retrospection. She no longer heard clanking silverware, the clinking of glasses, and snippets of conversation coming from downstairs.

Cassie sighed, closed the door to her dad’s room, and with apprehension, descended the stairs. With each step, thoughts ran through her head. Emotional and logical ones. With her dad gone, what would happen to her younger sister? This house—the house she’d lived in as a child—had to be sold. Money had to come from somewhere to pay the bills piled high on his desk.

~ ~ ~

You okay?

Cassie flinched and shook her head. No. I’m not.

Do you need a sedative?

She took in Francesco’s questioning gaze. Francesco, always coming to her rescue. Growing up, he’d become the brother she never had.

Always the doctor, Frankie. But you can’t fix this.

He rested his hand on her shoulder. I asked them to leave.

Who?

Your neighbors.

You mean the wake is over?

He nodded. Alice is in the kitchen making more tea. He clasped her hand in his and tugged. Time will—

No. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Time won’t. Now my past can never be resolved. All the questions I have, they can’t ever be answered.

The air was thick with the unsaid. Though she had never told her dad how she felt, the heartbeat of her life was gone. She felt a tug in her chest.

It hurts to even think about tomorrow.

Cassie took a step backwards and broke eye contact with Francesco.

I just want to curl up and forget. But Anne—

Curl up and forget? He parroted the words as he scraped a falling tear from her cheek. That’s not the resilient woman I remember. You survived your mother’s death, losing Jeff to the war, and then suffering the loss of your baby? You’re the strongest person I know. He put out his hand.

She allowed her friend to lead her into the yellow-walled kitchen with cracks of peeling paint above the stove. A rectangular wood-grained table with straight-back chairs stood centered under the hanging light bulb. A stained vinyl countertop, lined with food and desserts, ran half-way around the kitchen under the cupboards. Beyond the screen door, moths fluttered around the bright porch light. The tea kettle whistled. Francesco flicked on another inside light switch as Alice, her longest, dearest, and most outspoken friend poured tea into chipped blue and white china cups.

I’ve always loved this house. The yellow curtains you and I made in Home-Ec, and those ceramic bowls that we painted in art class. Her friend chuckled, pointing at the ceiling. Our pizza dough throwing days.

Francesco nodded. Your mother had her hands full with all of the kids on the block.

Cassie’s gaze darted upwards at dough ring remnants before sinking into a chair. A half smile lifted the corners of her mouth. The sounds of her parents laughing flashed through her mind as she and Alice pranked with the remnants of pizza makings so many years ago.

She jumped when Francesco patted her forearm.

Have you seen Anne, Cassie?

She shook her head.

Anne needs a sense of normalcy, Alice interrupted. She needs to be here with us.

Is she upstairs? Francesco asked as he walked in the direction of the door, leading into the hallway. He glanced up the staircase.

She’s been in the bathroom for hours, Cassie sighed. Anne slept in dad’s bed again last night. She holds his pillow over her face. Is that normal?

He returned to the table. No, it’s likely not normal to you, but it’s her way of coping with her father’s, her hero’s death.

Does it strike you strange that dad had a visitor before his death? And that he brewed tea? Cassie fingered the paper tea label hanging from the cup. He never made a pot of tea in his life.

She caught Alice and Francesco’s exchanged glances as she lifted the chamomile tea bag from the cup. He only made instant coffee. Yet he opened my new box of tea, put water in the kettle, and brewed a pot. He also prepared biscuits for someone. That all happened the night he died.

Maybe the visitor made the tea, Alice interjected.

As she started to answer, a peripheral movement caught her attention.

Her younger sister Anne moseyed into the room, grabbed a chair from the table, and pulled it over to the wall. You mean a stranger made tea in our house? She plopped down and tilted it back on two legs, pounding against the wall.

Can you not do that, please? Cassie tried to make her voice not sound annoyed.

We may never know exactly what happened, Princess.

Will you frickin’ stop calling me that? Anne glared at Francesco.

More than likely it was someone dad knew, Cassie said, watching for her sister’s reaction, or he wouldn’t have opened the front door.

Princess—I mean Anne, come over and join us. Francesco patted the table.

Jeez, Anne snapped, jerking her head up to scowl at him. Why would I wanna do that?

When Francesco looked about to say more, Cassie gave a quick shake of her head.

He walked over to the screen door and breathed in. Looks like a storm heading this way. I can smell the rain already.

Why’d you bring those stupid flowers here? Anne complained.

Francesco turned around, brows lifted in question.

Cassie looked at her sister with concern. Anne was an exquisite rendition of their dad’s Eastern European roots. Her olive skin and statuesque height lent her an undeniable beauty. A straight nose brought forth tweaks from all those who adored her. Gold-flecked green eyes could dissect you with anger in one moment or embrace you with delight in the next.

I’ll take them to the hospital tomorrow and put them in the chapel near the children’s ward. Cassie closed her eyes, wishing her remark away when she remembered how much Anne detested hospitals. Years prior, their mother’s hospitalization and eventual death had made a lifetime impact on Anne and for that reason, left her with a hatred for flowers.

Well, the stench makes me sick. Her stare didn’t waver as she twirled one of many long, black braids around her fingers. And I know what you’re planning. She jumped up. You’re gonna sell the house. Her brows furrowed. Where the hell am I supposed to go?

Calm down, Anne, Cassie sighed. I’ll take care of you.

Yeah, sure. Like you took care of me when mom died.

I’ll do better. I promise.

Her sister plopped back into the chair.

With an audible expulsion of breath, Cassie’s attention returned to her friends. What about the fireplace? Dad never lit a fire in this house. She ran a finger around the rim of the cup. He hated cleaning out the ashes.

And who lights a fire in the summer? Alice exclaimed.

He never locked the doors either. Cassie felt her throat tighten. She swallowed, near tears.

It doesn’t make sense. Francesco scratched the stubble on his chin and turned back to the screen. It’s starting to rain.

Anne’s hands fisted at her side. An unknown person came in this house and you chit-chat about the weather?

Francesco winced. Sorry, Princess.

Stop, Anne hollered. I’m seventeen. Don’t treat me like a baby.

We’ll get things figured out, Anne. We’re safe here and we have each other. Cassie inhaled and let her breath out slowly.

A flash of lightening, followed seconds later by a loud bang of thunder had Cassie scrunching her shoulders in reaction. Anne didn’t even flinch.

What do you know? Dad would be alive today if you had answered the damn phone.

Cassie inhaled deeply at the dig and shivered when her sister pointed a shaky finger at her.

He was having a heart attack and you didn’t care about saving him because he loves me more.

At hearing Anne’s accusal, Cassie gasped. The flood of tears on her sister’s dark lashes threatened to fall. She began popping her knuckles.

Yes, I know Anne. He did love you so much more. Now it’s just us. I swear I will never leave you. Maybe we could go away for a few weeks—to the ocean or, she glanced at Francesco, out to Denver and the mountains.

Anne rolled her eyes and huffed out an angry breath. You’re bizarre. Dad’s not yet cold in his grave and you’re talking vacation? She got up and walked to the door. I’m outta here.

Where are you going?

Anne slammed the screen. Cassie rushed to the door and switched on the floodlights. She watched her sister run across the yard in the downpour and duck behind the storage shed.

Let her go, Alice said. She just needs to cry it out.

She turned away from the door. She won’t sleep in her own room anymore and I can hear her at night crying behind dad’s locked bedroom door. I’ve tried talking to her, but she pushes me away.

A counselor could help her through the trauma of losing someone she loved so much. Having lost both parents has to be hard at such a young age, Francesco said.

Another loud bang of thunder startled Cassie. I hate thunder and I’m worried Anne will get hit by lighting, especially if she’s hiding behind the shed.

I’ll run out to check. Francesco grabbed a flashlight from the corner shelf of the cupboard. If she’s there, I’ll bring her back inside.

Alice caught and held tight to Cassie’s hand. She’ll come back. Don’t worry.

Moments later Francesco came back inside, grabbed a dishtowel, and wiped the rain from his face and neck. Anne’s not out there. He looked from Alice to Cassie. I’ll get into some dry clothes and be back in a minute.

The rain fell in torrents, splashing against the windowpanes. Chills ran the length her body as Cassie got a sudden vivid picture of her dad’s grave with rivers of water pouring onto the mound of softened earth. Even though Cassie had had a flawed relationship with her dad, she couldn’t bear to think of him in the coffin. Alone. And now Anne had run off in the darkness of night.

Alice hugged Cassie. I need to get home to my baby girl. She’s afraid of thunder.

Francesco returned, a soft faded T-shirt and beige khaki shorts replacing his soaked gear. You’re not leaving, are you?

Michelle—

She’s with a sitter. Stay with us and have some dinner, Francesco insisted. Or at least pack up some of this food and feed the sitter.

After today, like Cassie, I’ve lost my appetite. Alice looked sorrowfully at her friend. Call me if you need to talk.

"Will I see you before I leave? Francesco asked.

Alice shrugged. Maybe. When are you going back to Denver?

I took a week off. I’ll help out here a bit longer and then head back to Lillie and the kids.

Hey, I have an idea. Alice turned to Cassie. How about tomorrow we meet at the gym and go a couple of rounds? It will do you good to get out.

Have you taken up boxing? Francesco asked.

Alice shook her head and nudged Cassie with her shoulder. I practice karate and since my best friend here is already a karate pro, she tries her moves with the punching bag.

You’re kidding, right?

No, seriously. I vent when I go there. Alice grabbed her lavender bag splattered with the gaudy colored rhinestones to match her equally colorful glasses and nodded at Francesco. You can come too, if you want.

And ruin your workout? He grinned.

At the door, Alice turned back. Come on. Meet me at the gym tomorrow, Cassie. After our workout we could do a sauna to relax.

I can’t think that far ahead. I’m too worried about Anne. I really should go find her. Maybe she’s inside the shed. She envisioned her sister puffing on a cigarette, hunched down on her heels and crying.

I checked in there, Francesco said.

I’ll call you in the morning. Alice slid her glasses back up her nose, covered her head with her shoulder bag, and ran to her car outside.

~ ~ ~

The house was finally quiet—empty of people. Cassie walked from the kitchen into the living room to look out the big picture window, still watching for Anne.

Rivulets of water ran down the sidewalk. The rain against the windowpane blurred the usually stark streetlamp. She shivered, imagining her sister soaked to the skin.

She turned to glance at her dad’s reading area. A tall floor light stood behind the brown leather lounger. A small round stand held a pipe holder. She imagined the smell of cherry tobacco wafting under her nose.

Let’s eat something." Francesco stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across his chest.

She began gathering plates and glasses from the coffee table.

Leave them. He took the dishes she had picked up and put them on the piano bench. You need to fill your stomach and then I’ll give you a sleeping pill.

Drained, she ignored her growling stomach. She couldn’t eat. Although she could barely put one foot in front of the other, she couldn’t sleep.

Talk to me. Let’s discuss what’s happened the last few days while we have some food. He lifted her hand and gently pulled. Come on. You sit while I cook.

I can’t eat.

You must eat. He coaxed her in the direction of the kitchen then, when they reached the table, he pulled out a chair and eased her down. First of all, don’t worry too much about Anne. It’ll take some time, but eventually she’ll—

She’s heartbroken, Frankie. Dad was her everything. Cassie swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek. She hates me—and now we have to sell the only house she has ever known.

Francesco lifted a casserole from the white Formica counter, put it in the oven, and turned to Cassie.

Tell me what happened that last night. You were at school studying, right?

She nodded.

The librarian told you there was a phone call for you?

Yes, and I told her I couldn’t answer.

And then you came here after that?

Her breath left her lungs as his words hit her. She couldn’t speak but the picture was intense in her brain.

Two hours later. I came here and found him on the floor. Eyes open, empty of life.

Nausea rose as she remembered how cold he had been. Chills ran through her. He’d been alone for two hours. For the rest of her life she would remember that moment.

And that’s when found your dad?

She nodded and whispered. On the floor. I tried to revive him, but it was too late. Her voice quivered as she looked at Francesco. Cassie emitted a long, deep breath and looked at Francesco. He died alone.

Anne was upstairs?

Her music was blaring. She heard nothing, and you know what? Dad wouldn’t have wanted her to see him like that. She slapped the table with her hand. "That’s why he’d tried calling me."

Francesco covered her hand with his and nodded. There’s definitely a bit of a mystery about your dad’s death. Do you have any idea who his visitor was? We need to find out if your dad was still alive when this person left.

The police examined all of the doors and windows. They said no one broke in. And the coroner said he died a natural death. She lowered her gaze. Her throat tightened to get the next words out. A stroke killed him.

Well, someone was definitely here with him that night. But for now, let’s get some rest. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.

She lifted her head and searched her friend’s eyes for comfort. Thanks for coming, Frankie. I almost didn’t call you.

What changed your mind?

She shrugged. Our friendship over the years. Your mom helping mine during her last months.

Like family, right?

She nodded. I put extra towels in the guest bedroom. You go on to bed. I’m going to wait up for Anne.

~ ~ ~

Good. Finally it’s dark inside. She’s in bed. Anne tossed a cigarette, listened to the sizzle as it hit a puddle, and then pushed away from the shed. Trudging through the muddy back yard, she got to the overgrown carpet of grass, flattened by the rainstorm. On her left—the tall oak tree.

Woody. You up there?

The right side held the rose bushes her mom had planted before Anne was born. Red petals lay scattered on the ground like drops of blood. Anne squinted, trying to focus as she neared the screen door. Her cat Fluffy, sat on a patio chair, ready to run inside.

She opened the door, snuck inside along with her cat, and flicked on the overhead light in the kitchen.

Shit.

There Cassie sat at the kitchen table, in her customary white granny nightgown, long auburn hair flowing over her shoulders. Cassie’s jaw clenched as if she were grinding her teeth. When their gazes met, Anne wasn’t surprised to see her sister’s usually aquamarine-colored eyes turn as murky as the sea after a hurricane.

Double shit, Anne mumbled.

Her sister held a cup. She glanced at the wall clock, then back to her.

Anne pointed an unsteady finger toward her foe. Say one word and I’ll leave out the same door I just came through.

This is the second night you’ve come in late. You’re soaked. I’m worried about you, Anne, that’s all. Cassie stood.

What’s it to you where I go? Anne back away, tripped, and fell against a chair. It crashed to the floor.

Cassie reached out and caught her arm. She was close. Too close. Anne exhaled, knowing she’d be found out.

Drinking won’t solve anything.

Breaking free, Anne stepped back, trying to figure out the easiest way to edge past her sister.

Why don’t you go get out of those clothes. I’ll make us some tea.

Leave me the hell alone. She took a step forward, then stumbled when everything tilted.

Here let me help you.

Shut up for once. Anne lurched away, stumbled again, and staggered up the stairs.

Her sister followed.

At the top, Anne turned and faced Cassie. Get away from me. She veered into her dad’s bedroom and slammed then locked the door.

After kicking off her sandals and stripping away her wet clothes, she walked across the wooden floor to the open closet. Anne needed her spot of seclusion. That one place where she could hide and smell the memories left of her dad. To wear his clothes and physically touch what he’d touched. Connect with him on her terms and in private.

From his dirty laundry basket, she lifted a long-sleeved blue shirt. Holding it over her face, she breathed in. A trace of odorous perspiration remained. She slid into first one sleeve and then the other. After buttoning, she turned to finger his favorite navy-blue suit jacket and covered her face with the woven, scratchy material. The familiar scent of sweet fruity cologne lingered. She wrapped the long sleeves around her shoulders.

Hold me, daddy. The floppy sleeves remained limp, not returning the embrace she craved.

Anne pulled a striped navy and light blue tie from a hook on the wall and hung it around her neck. She noosed the silky material as she had watched her dad do every morning.

My last birthday present to you.

Each way she turned in this small enclosure, she could visualize her dad. Polished brown and black shoes on the floor. Jackets and shirts neatly hung on the closet rod to the left. Slacks to the right.

She brought a wooden coat rack close to the doorway, pulled the blue jacket from the hanger, and draped it over the branches. Next, she wrapped his preferred tie around the wooden neck. She situated a pair of pants under the jacket. After that, she put a pair of brown shoes under the cuffs. Slipping around the makeshift statue of her dad, Anne turned toward the bedroom and the darkness beyond.

Moving to her dad’s bed. She threw herself onto the hard mattress. Wrapping her arms around the softness of his pillow, she squeezed hard, then pressed her face into the place where she could smell his hair. She pulled it closer, smothering the gut-wrenching sobs as they consumed her. She cried until her insides were empty. A void no one could ever fill again.

How could she live without her dad? Not sink into his comfortable embraces. Not hear the roars of laughter when she tried to cook for him. Not see the smile that never failed to cheer her. What she wouldn’t give to hear the thump of his heart when she laid her head on his chest. And that emotional side others never saw. More than once she’d seen his feelings crack when he spoke about her mom and told Anne how much he missed her.

Anne turned over and switched on the bedside lamp. Her glance lifted to the tinted photo of her mom and dad on the dresser.

The day they got married.

I don’t remember you, Mom.

I can’t pull my childhood into focus.

Pictures kept her mom’s memory etched in her mind. Nothing else remained. The same would happen with her dad. She’d soon forget his smell, the sound of his raspy voice, but most of all — the comfort of his hugs.

The alcohol she’d consumed fuzzed her mind, but if she squinted her eyes until they were nearly shut, she could almost see her dad in the distance.

Daddy? she whispered.

He turned. With outstretched arms he inched in her direction, taking long slow strides. A calmness came over her body. With a breath of relief, she floated toward him.

~ ~ ~

Anne awoke with a start. The illuminated hands on the alarm clock said three a.m. She rolled over to the edge of the bed, opened the drawer, and pulled out the engraved birthday lighter. With a trembling finger, she gently traced the words she already knew by heart.

My dad. My hero. I’ll love you forever.

Grabbing a cigarette from the pack Anne got up walked over to the door to unlatch the lock. She sneaked down the empty hallway, to the bathroom, then closed and secured the door before turning on the light. Lighting the cigarette, she sat on the cold, hard toilet seat and took several long drags. The nicotine hit her system but did little to jolt her out of the numbness encompassing her. Her eyes lifted to the shelf below the mirror. She spotted the glass that was always there. Her dad’s glass. The glass where he kept his razor.

Spreading her legs, Anne dropped the cigarette into the water below then rose and stood in front of his mirror. A stranger with streaked mascara and swollen lids stared back at her. With a steady hand, Anne unbuttoned her dad’s shirt, then slipped out of it, folded it, and carefully, calmly, put the shirt on the back of the toilet.

No one could ever love me like you did, daddy. She sighed. No more squeezes or whiskers tickling my nose.

She lifted the glass and pulled out the packet of sharp-edged blades.

A new one every day, right daddy?

Almost every day during her dad’s morning shave, she’d stand behind him and watch as he removed the white foam slathered on his face in thin strips. She breathed in deeply, disappointed to not take in the smell of soapy water and aftershave.

She closed her eyes and envisioned a clean white undershirt on his broad back. A belt looped into dark slacks just