Adieu to Destiny (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod Book 4) Read online

  Adieu to Destiny

  (Volume IV)

  The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod

  by

  Tracy Ellen

  Adieu to Destiny by Tracy Ellen

  Copyright © 2014 by Tracy Ellen INK

  Amazon Edition, License Notes

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  [email protected]

  Dedication

  To Greg, Sarah, and Adam,

  Thanks for making all things possible--

  TE

  Acknowledgments

  Primary Editors

  Kelly Beausoleil, Iveta Cvrkal,

  Beth Lake, and Shannan Robinett

  You each have my grateful appreciation

  for your unique talents, your unstinting support,

  and your special friendships.

  I can never thank you enough, but I’ll try.

  In Special Appreciation…

  Thank you to the readers that have written reviews of my books.

  Thank you to the people that have connected with me by

  posting on FB, email, discussion forums, and my website.

  I love hearing from you.

  Thanks again to Lou Lou, Juliette L. and Melissa W.,

  the witty winners of the…

  Name the Character contest (Priscilla Powers)

  Review Team contest (Opinion Minions)

  Beta Reader Contest (Bel’s Book Ninjas)

  Fun names, ladies, way to go!

  Prologue

  Saturday, 12/15

  5:00 PM

  TO: [email protected]

  FROM: [email protected]

  SUBJECT: Waxing nostalgic

  Darling Anabel,

  I enjoy visiting different countries, but flying is for the birds. There was a time when strolling around a strange airport and experiencing different airlines was a facet of the excitement of traveling, but now it’s simply a means to an end--and a tiresome one at that. People are herded like cattle, the shops are chains, bad fast food costs the equivalent of a gourmet meal in a high-end restaurant, and customer service is no longer a given on airlines, but must be purchased a la carte. Forgive me for sounding like one of those complaining old fogies who always remember the way things used to be, but sometimes we aren’t wrong. However, it was a nice surprise to be sent off by five of my grandchildren.

  As I wait for the plane, my mind has been wandering into the past--another thing we old folk do so well. I’ve always wished you could have known your grandfather. He was such a handsome, charming devil. Like two peas in pod, he would have adored you, too. I can’t think why thoughts of your grandfather dwell so predominantly on my mind these days, but I have never felt his presence so strongly, not since the first weeks after he died. Perhaps it’s the flurry of love, babies, and weddings. In the hustle and bustle of this past week, I never did get the chance to tell you--the Baron has proposed. I need to cut this short, but don’t worry that there will be another set of wedding bells ringing in Las Vegas when we meet again in two weeks. Like you, marriage is not a state I would enter into frivolously, especially at my age. There is no need to rush. Not that I am concerned peer pressure would ever sway you, my dearest granddaughter, into making a hasty decision. I will confirm with a text when this dratted plane lands safely in Germany. All my love…Tschüss!

  Chapter I

  “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin

  Saturday, 12/15

  7:15 PM

  I could not believe that I had allowed myself to be talked out of my delicious dinner and into this craziness. Hugging the big body next to mine for warmth, I breathed heavily in his ear. His chain rattled noisily, and I shushed his irritated rumble at the tightness of my embrace. I had quickly dominated him and he would have to deal with me sharing his bed.

  It had been a mini meatloaf. My dinner, I mean. Not just any old meatloaf, but company meatloaf that I’d made ahead for tomorrow’s family Sunday dinner. Think baked meatloaf covered in thick slices of sharp cheddar cheese and then entirely frosted with garlic mashed potatoes before being broiled lightly to a golden perfection. I would never be too uppity to admit meatloaf was one of my favorite comfort foods. When I have a house full of hungry people on Sunday evenings, I don’t get much of a chance to savor my own food. Depending on the number of men at the table, I rarely have leftovers, so I wasn’t taking any chances with the company meatloaf. I had put aside a small sampling for my dinner tonight.

  Trying to modulate my breath so that I could hear, I salivated at the thought of my lost dinner and my stomach rumbled.

  My mind quickly evaluated the events leading up to my current predicament.

  The mini meatloaf had been cooling to achieve that perfect temperature for the first bite of flavorful meat and cheesy potato goodness while I read NanaBel’s email sent from the airport. Smiling, I fired off a quick: I love you, woman. Stay safe, but above all, stay single.

  That’s when Jazy and Tre J unexpectedly buzzed my apartment.

  After a week of nonstop togetherness, I was heartily sick of my family and friends. With the two bridal showers over, NanaBel had left Northfield only a couple of hours before to catch her plane to resume her interrupted German holiday.

  I had been looking forward to a few hours of alone time before meeting up with Jazy, Pam, and John-Joe later tonight at a new dancing hotspot in Dundas.

  Refusing to do the polite thing and go away when I at first refused to let them in, Jazy convinced me to open the door by pleading that they desperately needed my help; it was a life or death situation. I was still undecided when Tre unknowingly sweetened the deal by saying it was a ninja mission.

  I hid my mini meatloaf from Tre’s twitching nose and enormous appetite before I buzzed them up. The two girls came bounding up the stairs. After we exclaimed anew over our great tans, as if we hadn’t seen each other in days rather than hours, we sat around the island in my warm, fragrant kitchen.

  Ten minutes later, the mission plans Jazy hurriedly drilled into my head hadn’t seemed like a dangerous proposition. More like the price of admission to solve one more puzzling mystery in my life. Over the last few weeks, I’ve suspected the girls have been up to something sneaky that nobody knew about. The regular third person that made up their secret mission triad was unable to help tonight. I was finally going to find out what Jaz and Tre J were up to that resulted in their finely honed ninja skills.

  Out of idle curiosity, I tried to discover who the third person was in their triad, but Jazy went all pious. “Our missions are strictly need to know,” she wagged a no-no finger, “and you, my dear sister, do not need to know. I won’t tell you our third person’s name and I won’t tell them that you helped us tonight. That’s the way we rock. Right, Tre?”

  Tre had started wandering the kitchen. She leaned down to sniff, and then peered into the oven while she replied absent-mindedly, “Sure, Jaz, rock and roll forever. Damn, what smells so good in here, Bel?”

  I pushed Jazy’s bossy finger aside, and shrugged in good-natured acceptance of their secrecy act--her mission, her rules. I
could respect that concept. Jazy had been cranky lately, so I wouldn’t tease her for more information.

  Besides, short of imprisonment, mind-altering drugs, and physical torture, not even the most skilled expert could get a secret out of Jazy that the stubborn little mule didn’t want to spill. I ought to know; I’ve tried everything else for twenty years.

  Imprisonment might have worked, but I couldn’t lock Jazy up. Not after our crazy cousin Candy MacKenzie had locked her in an old Samsonite suitcase when Jazy was four and left her during a game of partner Hide and Seek at Uncle Trevor and Aunt Carol’s house. Crazy claimed it was an accident the hard-sided suitcase got locked. I was at the bookstore with NanaBel that day, but Anna and I were still convinced the nutjob had locked Jazy in deliberately. If my older sister, Kenna hadn’t noticed Jazy was missing and set up a search party, it was the family consensus Jazy would have suffocated.

  At four-years-old, Jazy had passionately sworn out her first public grudge to NanaBel and her siblings when we were all alone at the dinner table that night. I was impressed with her chubby arms drawing designs in the air as she vowed her eternal dislike of the Candy Coater.

  When, over the next year or two, NanaBel was anxious at Jazy’s inexplicably dramatic dislike of a few different adults that visited the store, I explained to my grandmother that I thought it was more than good instincts on Jazy’s part.

  For example, the regular customer Marge Clausen appeared to be a nice woman in her twenties, but she was in reality a hurtful, child cheek-pincher. NanaBel hadn’t known that about Marge. My theory was that Jazy had formed early childhood grudges during her first developmental years and they had imprinted on her brain since infancy. When Jazy saw those adults, she reacted offensively and did something violently complicated with her hands while she screamed a gibberish curse or two.

  NanaBel had whispered that it was the gift of the Celtic Cursing. I wasn’t sure what she meant since I was only eight, but I’d shrugged at the dazedly staring NanaBel and said whatever it was, it worked. Nobody had to worry about anybody messing with our Jaz.

  I had smiled earlier tonight and watched as Tre J rooted fruitlessly through the refrigerator for the source of the savory aroma driving her nuts.

  Now Tre J was a different matter when it came to keeping secrets. She may be Jazy’s closest sidekick in life, but she’s been my double agent since grade school. Tre’s my unofficial bodyguard that has my back, as well as my sister’s. It all boiled down to Tre J didn’t talk out of turn, but if I thought a question was important enough to be asked, she answered.

  Some gut instinct of mine said to find out the identity of their third triad member. I was on a first name basis with my gut these days, so I made a mental note to ask Tre J later on when Jazy wasn’t around.

  My smile had slipped then and I sighed, shoulders slumped. When playing hide the mini-meatloaf from Tre J was the highlight of my week, instead of hide the salami with Luke like I wanted, getting fresh air in the country with Jazy and Tre J on a ninja mission was probably not the worst idea to save my sanity.

  Ever since Svettie had been accused of murder on national TV and evaded police custody last Sunday, I’d been looking over my shoulder for the rampaging Russian to pop out of the woodwork and try to kill my family or me. With no Luke around to take the edge off, little sleep at night, and a whirlwind week of wedding activities that had me thinking death may not be such a bad thing, I’d been getting progressively more depressed.

  I was startled by the loud clinking-clanking of the chain. It abruptly stopped my thoughts of the past few days and brought me fully aware of my surroundings. I had been multi-tasking, listening while I huddled in my misery and got my breath back, but also thinking about my problems. Now I paid total attention to the present.

  The “him” that I referred to dominating was a dog. I couldn’t see the animal, but I’d felt him up with my hands, and much worse, I smelled him. Since he had a monstrously large head, which logically corresponded with monster-sized teeth, I felt happier not seeing what the dog looked like anyway.

  His bed was a rickety doghouse never meant for two, and definitely not adequate protection against the piercing north wind of a December night in Minnesota.

  My domination consisted of shoving the mini meatloaf I’d been hoarding in my hoodie pocket down his growling gullet--baggie and all--to shut the dog up when I crashed his pad.

  The breathing heavy part was from running faster than I’d ever run in my life, probably because I was running for my life.

  Hiding from my pursuer, my cell phone that I used as bait was still clenched tightly in my hand. It was turned off and blessedly silent, but the whinnying screams of a horse blasting at top volume still reverberated in my head. I wriggled against the stinky dog in the tight space and pulled my purse free.

  The boom of a gun blast was incredibly loud in the still night. It was immediately followed by a sharp “THWAP!” that caused Stinky and I to jump in terrified response. Somewhere much to close for comfort outside the doghouse, I tracked the descent of a tree branch crashing violently to the frozen ground.

  At least I hadn’t whined out loud like my canine companion.

  ‘Or peed myself!’ I swore silently. Hot urine soaked my jeans and spread down the side of my leg that, ugh, must be pressed up against Stinky’s doggy dink.

  ‘If we survive this night, I will hold her down while you smack the crap out of your sister!’

  For once, I fervently agreed with the mean mommy voice, but stayed silent. I needed every bit of oxygen to get my breath back after running at a breakneck pace through the small wood of spindly Christmas trees to escape the madman hot on my tail.

  ‘Who knew a drunken old man could run so fast!’ A spark of admiration was present in the accountant voice, despite the fretful worry.

  ‘Who knew she could run so far without falling,’ the mean mommy voice snickered.

  Giving my favorite salute to the mean mommy voice, I listened intently for any sounds that the nut with the big gun was coming towards the doghouse.

  In my kitchen when Jaz and Tre described what they needed from me tonight, I had asked if I should be prepared for any trouble. My little sister rolled her eyes impatiently. She said that my position as bait was merely a precaution. All I had to do was stand there and look good while they did all the heavy lifting.

  Jazy’s confident assurances rang in my head, “On our missions, nobody ever knows we are coming or what hit them.” Eyes shining, she added with a dramatic flourish, “We’re like the frickin’ Ides of March, in like a lion and out like a lamb.”

  After that statement, Tre had bit her cheek and looked down at her hands. I choked on my snort of laughter, but Jazy didn’t notice. She was totally focused in mission-mode, and for that once, I didn’t have the heart to correct her.

  Now I hoped I got the chance to tell the little braggart what I thought of her missions because that farmer knew we were coming and was trying his damndest to shoot me.

  ‘It wasn’t like they hid the fact that in the worst case scenario you were bait. You were just flattered Jazy called you the fastest runner she knew,’ the detective voice pointed out. ‘Listen, the old bastard is walking the other way.’

  I briefly patted the dog to quiet him down again. I didn’t know much about dogs, but poor guy, the rack of ribs on a skeleton had more meat on them than Stinky’s.

  We lay prone on the dank plywood floor; two sets of ears perked to follow the heavy footsteps as they clomped off, crunching loudly over spots of ice.

  Fervently, I thanked the ninja gods it hadn’t snowed all week to leave any tracks that farmer could follow. The ground around the doghouse was a sea of churned up frozen mud clumps, and judging by the disgusting odor, only semi-frozen dog poops. I wasn’t worried about having left any tracks in the poop, either. In my running panic through the dark, I was lucky to have caught a glimpse of the iron post and attached chain sticking up about two feet out of the ground i
n the clearing before the doghouse. As it was, I still had no choice but to do an impromptu, running long jump to avoid getting entangled. Arms over my head and knees bent, I hurdled up over the chain and then threw my legs forward and leaned over my extended legs. I jumped far enough that I slid, feet first, through the torn flap of the doghouse entrance to land on the slumbering beast inside.

  A slurred voice now yelled, “Think you can come…onto my place and steal my animals! Damn women, I’ll teach you to…mess with me!” He was huffing and puffing from the exertion of the chase, but from his receding voice, was moving on past the doghouse. “I’ll blow your hinkin’ steads…your stinkin’ heads off…when I find you all…”

  Another booming blast went off, but aimed in the opposite direction. Stinky was still freaked and let out a frightened yelp while he scrambled to burrow even closer to me. The chain attached to his collar clanked loudly in his agitation.

  Witnessing the half-starved dog’s reaction to his master’s angry shouting, I certainly had no problem understanding Jazy and Tre J’s decision to hit this farm tonight. If a dog was a man’s best friend, I couldn’t imagine how that mean old dude treated his horses.

  Unfortunately, the voice became louder again. “Shut up, you damn whining dog! Ain’t you supposed to be guarding the farm; you lazy…good for nothing…piece of...”

  There was a loud grunt and then something slammed against the tin roof of the old doghouse. Stinky and I levitated in the air again before I realized there’d been no accompanying gunshot. The man must have hurled something harmless like a big rock, but that didn’t stop the quivering dog from squirting a second burst of scalding pee down my already drenched thigh.