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  Home Strange Home

  CeeCee James

  Copyright © 2019 by CeeCee James

  All rights reserved.

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For my Auntie Lala and Auntie Lili, who extolled the values of laughter, a good story, and broccoli.

  Contents

  Blurb

  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

  Blurb

  When Stella's uncle drags her to a surprise party for Ian Stuber, no one is more surprised than the man of the hour--who promptly drops dead. But when it's determined something more sinister is at play, Stella is dragged into the investigation as one of the witnesses, and the search is on to discover not only WHO committed the murder, but HOW... after all, the room was packed with party goers.

  Sniffing out a killer is a hard enough task by itself, but when you add to the fact Stella's own family keeps stonewalling her every move to search for her missing mother, it's no wonder Stella is about to lose her mind. She’s soon learning that if she wants answers, she's going to have to find them herself.

  Can Stella capture Ian's killer before he strikes again?Or will the next bullet be for her?

  1

  You know that tickley sensation of sweat gathering in places where it absolutely shouldn’t be, and you’re trapped in public, unable to do anything about it? Like a spider snared in my shirt, the prickle was a red bullseye of misery, becoming all I could think about. I squirmed, unfortunately knocking Darrel in his spine.

  “Ow!” he said, pushing back into me. My nose bumped into the sofa.

  It’s not what you’re thinking. I was actually hiding behind a sofa, along with five other people, on this grand Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately, the sofa wasn’t big enough to hide six grown adults, and so we were stacked on top of each other much in the same way as ingredients on a sub sandwich. I was the tomato, being squashed in both directions.

  The room was sweltering, and the surrounding air was heavy with the scent of sweat and halitosis. I tried to breathe through my mouth. Someone coughed, and the whole stack of us wobbled as we fought to balance against each other. I won’t even tell you where I found a spare elbow.

  We were waiting for my Uncle Chris’s long-time friend to show up. Ian Stuber was his name, and he was about to leave our little Pennsylvania town of Brookfield to make his fortunes in New York City. This was a surprise party, set up by my uncle to wish both him and his wife good luck on their new adventures.

  “Quiet, everyone! He’s here!” whispered a blonde woman with short hair. The nervous giggles increased as our human pyramid threatened to spill out onto the floor.

  “Shhh,” we warned each other.

  Silence fell as the metallic scratch of a key against a lock came from the front door, followed by the sound of the door banging open against the stop. Footsteps clicked against the tile entry way, along with the sound of him taking off his coat.

  The tower of us practically vibrated in anticipation. Almost here… just a few more steps….

  As if we were one animal, I could feel the tension in all of us building in readiness to explode with shouts of “Surprise!”

  Suddenly, from the entryway, Ian yelled, “You can’t do this to me! That’s extortion!”

  His voice immediately put a damper on our excitement, like rain on a campfire. We eyeballed each other, wondering what we should do now. No one made the first move.

  “If you do that, I swear I’ll kill you!” Ian growled, stomping into the living room.

  I glanced over at Uncle Chris, who had earlier somehow managed to squeeze his great girth behind a wing chair. His eyes were wide, his cheeks red and puffed as if he were holding his breath. He must have felt me looking at him because he turned his head to meet my eye. Then, slowly, he grabbed the back of the chair and climbed to his feet.

  “Surprise,” he called weakly, spurring us all to rise to echo the same sentiment. It was a weak celebration, I’ll tell you that.

  Ian’s head swiveled in our direction so fast I thought his neck would snap. His jaw opened slackly, and his face drained to the color of congealed oatmeal. One of his hands slowly dropped to his side.

  I can honestly say, in all my years of attending surprise parties, I’d never seen a person more surprised than him.

  He swallowed hard and then smiled, the kind of smile you give your dentist when he’s telling a joke but he’s also approaching your mouth with a drill.

  “I’ll call you back,” he snapped into his phone and then turned it off. His gaze rested on Uncle Chris. “Chris! Dude! How’d you get in here?”

  Uncle Chris’s sheepishly grinned and straightened his shirt. Even dressed casually, he wore a button-up. He wiped his forehead of sweat. It was hot in here, but I could tell he was sweating for other reasons. “Your wife let us in. We’re all here to celebrate your move and the new job.”

  Ian’s facial expression did a one-eighty. His head tipped back and he laughed. He even slapped his knee. “You guys got me! What is this, prank Ian day?” He pointed his phone at us. “Just got off the phone with my brother, trying to kid around about me not going to mom’s birthday this weekend. He was planning on telling them I was headed to St. Johns instead. ”

  It was a curious explanation, but one we accepted with relief. Laughter trickled through the air as he stuffed the phone in his pocket. “So, a party, huh? After all that, you guys better bring it. Let’s party!” he announced.

  We all spread out while Ian went around the room, welcoming each of us. He smiled genially and waved our congrats away, rubbing his other hand against his balding brown head in a show of humbleness.

  I fanned my shirt for a breath of air. I hated crowds. I hated parties where I knew next to no one even more, but Uncle Chris had insisted. He’d put great effort into inviting everyone he could think of. There were people that they’d graduated college with, guys that they’d competed in car races with, and men from their personal business. Kari had even come, lugging a huge pot of homemade potato salad. She hadn’t heard the event was catered and thought it was a pot-luck.

  Jasmine, his gorgeous, young wife, tossed back white-blonde curls from her shoulder and sauntered up to Ian. “Surprise, baby,” she said, before giving him a big kiss. When she finished, she carefully wiped the lipstick from his bottom lip with her thumb. “You happy?”

  He grinned and winked. “Very. But I owe you one.”

  Standing next to Jasmine was the first blonde woman, the one who’d announced that he had arrived. She was so close, it looked like she was about to kiss Ian, too.

  “Who are they?” I asked Kari.

  She glanced at them and then back at me. Her lips raised in a small amused smile. “That’s Jasmine and her cousin, Celeste. They’re best friends, or so I’ve heard.”

  Jasmine and Celeste were such a fascinating pair that it was hard to drag my
eyes away. The two appeared almost like twins, with skin as pale as milk, and the same silky platinum-blonde hair. I’d honestly never seen hair color in that exact shade before, outside of my childhood Malibu Barbie. Both young women were thin and well dressed in the latest designer clothes, with the cunning tears and rips in the jeans to make them appear bohemian even though they cost more than what I earned in a month.

  Celeste stood tall in knee-high boots and pouted as her finger ran under a very expensive necklace. She muttered to Jasmine and rolled her eyes. Jasmine stepped back from Ian and nodded.

  “The one with the short hair sure doesn’t look like she’s having any fun,” I whispered to Kari.

  “I don’t think anything, outside of a nightclub filled with A-listers would interest Celeste very much.” Kari casually examined her nails, making a show of not looking. “There are rumors that she’s an escort of a certain kind.”

  “Ohh,” I said, raising my eyebrows knowingly, even though I had zero idea what she meant.

  “You know, the kind that accompanies the very rich in their yachts overseas. So yes, I’m sure Celeste has seen and met everyone I could only hope to see with a twelve dollar movie ticket.”

  “Well, that’s nice that she made time to come to Ian’s surprise party.”

  “Yeah.” Her brow puckered. “Odd.”

  Now that she mentioned it, it did seem odd. And the young, blonde woman didn’t look happy about her decision.

  After about a half hour more of mingling, the catering staff gathered us to the table. The party was billed as a barbecue, and the smokey scent of ribs, brisket and sausage made my stomach growl.

  I was a little intimidated when I arrived at my seat. On my right was Celeste, appearing like an ice-princess. A man in a tweed suit was on my left. I stared longingly at the end where Uncle Chris sat, laughing uproariously at something Ian had said. I watched him, remembering the strange text he’d sent me the other night. In it, he’d said that he needed to tell me about something, and he hoped I wouldn’t hate him after I heard. My brow wrinkled now at the thought.

  “My name’s Celeste,” the woman introduced herself, interrupting me from my reverie.

  I was surprised and happy that she took the initiative. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought. “Stella.”

  “Stella,” she rolled my name in her mouth as if tasting it. “How lovely and unusual. And how do you know our wonderful guest of honor?” She glanced conspiratorially at Ian.

  “My Uncle Chris is good friends with him. He’s also helping Ian sell this place. Flamingo Realty.”

  “I see. That explains the flamingo sign out front. Actually, that explains so much.” She nodded, glancing around the table at the other guests. The waiters were passing out plates. “This is quite a good turnout.”

  “For sure,” I agreed. It was true. The dining room table was huge, and every seat was filled with what appeared to be happy people. The wine was flowing, and the conversation was easy going around the table.

  “So, how do you know Ian?” I asked, even though I knew. It wouldn’t do very well to blab that she’d already been the subject of party gossip.

  “I’m Jasmine’s cousin. Her family lived in our grandparents’ house when her father inherited the estate after they had passed. My father was not included in the will, and for a good reason. Jasmine took care of me though, during those tough years.” She glanced at her cousin. Jasmine was leaning toward Ian and speaking softly. “And I suppose, I’ve taken care of her. She’s needed me to stand up for her from time to time. She’s a peach. Sweet, and also soft. She’s always been prone to bullying. So, it was hard on her when I left for college.” Celeste concluded. She sipped her wine. Her sips turned into gulps and, in two seconds, it was half gone.

  “But she’s made it now.” I smiled, trying to wiggle out of her verbal quicksand of family drama.

  “If you can call being married to him, ‘making it,’” Her gaze shot icy daggers in his direction. “He’s never home, leaving her here alone night after night.”

  I was now up to my eyeballs in this sticky situation. Valiantly, I made another effort to steer the conversation. “So you went to college then. What did you study?”

  “Studies? That’s not always the important part, is it? The studies? Sometimes it’s more about the escape,” she answered. Her eyes focused on me like two blue lasers.

  The way she said the word ‘escape’ made my blood run cold. I wiped my mouth with a napkin to stall for time, trying not to react. Finally, I answered, “I’m sorry there were things in your life that you felt you had to escape.”

  Her eyes continued to study me, sharp and knowing. “Escape, evolve, and change. I travel the world now. They say the best revenge is a life well lived.”

  I nodded. “I’ve heard that saying before. It’s very true.”

  “At any rate, I am here now, living life at large. And forever thankful to our little Jasmine.”

  A rattle of silverware commanded our attention to the front of the table. Ian had thrown down his utensil and turned to glare at Jasmine. She appeared frightened.

  Uncle Chris nudged Ian’s arm.

  “Calm down. Smile. It’s a party,” Uncle Chris encouraged. And then he seemed to try to change the subject by saying, “Now tell me how I’m going to finish my bid for Brookfield Mayor?”

  Ian unclenched his hand gripping the cloth napkin. He forcefully relaxed his face and turned his attention to Uncle Chris. Soon they were talking animatedly about political campaigns.

  Celeste hummed next to me. “It’s a pity none of his family could be here to help celebrate. Or, perhaps, no wonder, with that temper of his.”

  “None?” I asked.

  “His brother doesn’t seem to have been able to make it. And his parents are gone.”

  A waiter set a plate brimming with barbecue before me. I thanked him and then turned to Celeste. “I thought he said his brother threatened to tell his mom he couldn’t come to a birthday party?”

  She picked up her fork. “Oh, that’s his foster mom. His birth parents died in a car accident when he was a young boy. Although, I do believe they’re here in spirit. At least his mother.” She raised a blonde white eyebrow. “Literally.”

  “Literally?” Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I self-consciously rubbed at them.

  “Oh yes, the Stubers are known for haunting their descendants. And with it being Ian’s mom, I’m sure she’s very close. They’re in the shadows. Always watching.” She shrugged a thin shoulder. “You know how mothers are.”

  I must have reacted because her sharp gaze zeroed in on me, again. “Are you close to your mom?” She speared a bit of salad.

  And, just like a wet fish flopping on the end of a line, there it was: the question I’d skirted around my entire life. My mom.

  Growing up in Seattle, people were used to the idea that my mother wasn’t around. It had been commonly accepted throughout my school years that it was just Dad and myself. Of course, every now and then, someone would ask about her, but I’d always managed to fend off any curiosity with a casual, “Oh, she’s been out of the picture since I was little.”

  I cleared my throat now in preparation to deliver the party line. “I don’t know my mom. It’s always been just my dad and me.”

  Celeste’s eyebrow flickered slightly at my answer. “I see. So, did your parents divorce, then?”

  Of course, that was the reason I always gave. But, as I opened my mouth to drop the yes, I paused.

  Why did I believe that my parents had divorced? My mind raced through childhood memories until one surfaced of my dad explaining to me that I needed to use that excuse with my first-grade teacher. He’d told me that the word meant two parents weren’t together anymore. And I’d blindly accepted it.

  A chill ran down my neck. Was that what really happened? Had my parents been divorced?

  I swallowed as my inner voice poked with another question. Were they ever really married?


  The enormity of that thought caused me to gasp. “I don’t know,” I finally stuttered. “My dad mentioned something like that, but we’ve never really talked about it. I was a child. It was what he’d had me tell my teacher.”

  “How young were you when he said that?” she asked, her expression softening.

  “Oh, about six,” I answered, remembering that day. I’d worn light-up sandals with pink embroidered flowers. I’d loved those things, and been more concerned about stomping my feet to get the shoes to light up than in understanding the complicated word my father was sharing.

  “And you’ve never seen her since?”

  I shook my head.

  Celeste leaned back in her chair. “There were no talks of visitation? No custody issues?”

  “We never really talked of her again.” I rubbed my neck, still creeping with chills.

  “That seems highly unusual, don’t you think? You don’t suppose it’s possible he’s kept you from her, do you?”

  What had I thought? No, I thought my mother had wanted nothing to do with us. The way my dad had cried when my mother had left… he’d been heartbroken.

  I shook my head, my arms crossed. My father was a good man. He’d never do something as low as kidnap me. “It destroyed him when she left. I think she was done with us. She broke his heart. In fact, he’s never even dated again.”

  “Hmm.” Her brow puckered, and she tapped her lip. “Very peculiar.”

  “It’s just normal life for me.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t suppose, being that you were so very small, that your mom died, do you? Perhaps your father never knew how to tell you. He just said she went away. That happens, you know.”