Welcome to Castle Cove

  Welcome to Castle Cove

  A Design Your Destiny Novel

  Kory M. Shrum

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book is to be reproduced in whole, or in part, in any form, without the author’s written permission.

  Copyright © 2018 Kory M. Shrum

  Cover art by Silviya Yordanova

  www.darkimaginarium.com

  All rights reserved.

  GET FREE BOOKS AND EXCLUSIVE MATERIAL

  Connecting with my readers is the best part of my job as a writer. One way that I like to connect is by sending 2-3 newsletters a month full of giveaways, freebies, and updates related to my work.

  And when you first sign up for the mailing list, I send you three free books right away.

  So if you’re interested in receiving free books, please look for the special offer in the back of this book.

  I hope you enjoy the book.

  Kory M. Shrum

  For Kimberly Benedicto,

  the best choice I ever made

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Free Books

  Dedication

  Instructions

  Begin

  Choice 1

  Choice 2

  Choice 3

  Choice 4

  Choice 5

  Choice 6

  Choice 7

  Choice 8

  Choice 9

  Choice 10

  Choice 11

  Choice 12

  Choice 13

  Choice 14

  Choice 15

  Choice 16

  Choice 17

  Choice 18

  Choice 19

  Choice 20

  Choice 21

  Choice 22

  Choice 23

  Choice 24

  Choice 25

  Choice 26

  Choice 27

  Choice 28

  Choice 29

  Choice 30

  Choice 31

  Choice 32

  Choice 33

  Choice 34

  Choice 35

  Choice 36

  Choice 37

  Choice 38

  Choice 39

  Choice 40

  Choice 41

  Choice 42

  Choice 43

  Choice 44

  Choice 45

  Choice 46

  Choice 47

  Choice 48

  Choice 49

  Choice 50

  Choice 51

  Choice 52

  Choice 53

  Choice 54

  Choice 55

  Choice 56

  Choice 57

  Choice 58

  Choice 59

  Choice 60

  Choice 61

  Choice 62

  Choice 63

  Bonus Short: Seven Devils – The Origin of Vendetta

  Night Tide in Castle Cove

  Also by Kory M. Shrum

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Instructions

  This is a different kind of novel. It requires an adventurous mind and inquisitive soul to enjoy.

  Unlike most novels, you can read this novel in many different ways. You can select the choices based on how you yourself would react in a situation.

  Or you can be more methodical, tracking every choice you’ve made, making sure you’ve left no stone unturned and have uncovered as many secrets about this strange town and its stranger residents as you can.

  When you reach the end of a story path, you can select “Create a New Story” and it will take you to the beginning again.

  If you want to stay on the same path, but redo a choice or two, you will need to track your choices along the way (Choice 4 > Choice 34 > Choice 36) and then when the path ends, simply select that number from the Table of Contents, and you will not have to start from the beginning.

  You must decide if you will read it as a detective or as an experience.

  The choice is up to you.

  I tell myself not to, that looking will only make this worse, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t resist pivoting in my seat and craning my neck to see the wall clock above the exit. 4:53. Seven more minutes. Just seven minutes and I can pack up and go home and finally end this train-wreck of a week. A book, a glass of chilled wine, and maybe even a hot bath…yeah. Throw a decent night of sleep on top and a lazy Saturday morning to follow and I’ll be right as rain.

  All of this sounds so good that I’m packing up before I realize what I’m doing.

  What difference does seven minutes on a Friday make anyway, I ask myself as I shove my laptop, planner, and phone into my gray canvas bag. I can leave out the back door of the office building, right under that red EXIT sign, and make it to my car before anyone even realizes I’m gone.

  And what are they going to do, deduct seven minutes from my pay?

  No one is even going to see me.

  You’re wrong there, I think. There’s definitely one person who will count those precious minutes like gold coins.

  I pivot the other way, toward the front of B & B Creative Partners building, and gaze out across the open office. All the desks have been vacated and the computers sit dark save one.

  In the blue light of the screen, Spencer’s face is expressionless unless I count the off-putting intensity in which he stares at me without blinking. His dark eyes drill into mine. I’ve always thought glasses softened a gaze. Nope. Spencer eyes me like a hawk eyes a field mouse scurrying in the high grass below, just waiting for his opportunity to swoop down and sink those talons in my neck.

  I force a smile and half-hearted wave. “Ready for the weekend?”

  He grunts.

  I repress the urge to ask, is that a yes or a no, asshole?

  But I decide striking up even a polite conversation isn’t worth it. After all, he’s part of the reason this work week has been so awful. I want to just grab his shoulders, shake him and demand, what is your problem, man?

  Because it’s clear he has a problem. With me. He brought coffee to work for everyone but me, and was like oh I forgot you were here, which I’d believe since I’m new, except he smirked when he said it. Then three out of four times I’ve had to ask him about an account he has pulled out his phone and pretended to take a call, in order to avoid me. He told our boss Laura that the Find the Golden Egg Easter campaign was his idea. And even if I could overlook his credit-stealing and rude office behavior, there’s his emails. No “hello”, no signature. Just one or two-line commands.

  I want the Hannigan memo by 4:30.

  You have to meet with the Yorks at 1:30. Be early.

  Your fly is undone.

  I guess I could see the last one as a courtesy. He didn’t have to tell me I was showing my lacy underwear to everyone. Or worse, he could’ve shouted it across the open office. But this one courtesy aside, he’s been a total shit to me.

  Maybe I’m blowing his behavior out of proportion to his actual crimes. He can’t be blamed for everything.

  I just moved to this new town, first of all. And as charming as Castle Cove is with its gorgeous cliffside coast, thick forests that makes the whole town reek of pine and wood chips, the people themselves have been standoffish. In grocery stores, at the post office, the gas station. They look long, they look hard, and not one has spared me a smile. If they speak to me at all, they ask a variation of the same question: Where are you from?

  Baltimore wasn’t exactly a friendly city, but this vibe is
nothing like Baltimore.

  Which is why you moved, I remind myself. I wanted something new. I wanted all the possibility a drastic change could offer. I just need to adjust. That’s all.

  I could just be lonely.

  What am I saying? Of course I’m lonely. The whole reason I left Baltimore and took this job on a whim was to get away from the awful failed engagement and a career that was falling apart.

  Getting dumped is really hard on job performance apparently. And I was one write up away from getting fired.

  One month after Greg and I called it off and he moved out of the apartment we’d shared for three years—Bam! We ran into each other.

  I was in the grocery store after work, looking at the canned spaghetti, trying to decide if I wanted the old traditional or spicy version.

  I hadn’t even boiled water for a month. I’d stopped washing my hair and wearing makeup. My wardrobe consisted of mostly yoga pants.

  But I was okay. I was breathing and getting up in the morning. I was still going to work and paying the bills. I was going to be fine. Probably.

  While I was reading the back of a can of spicy spaghetti, someone called my name.

  I turned, and there he was. Greg looking fit and gorgeous with his mussed black hair. The cut-off T-shirt he was wearing brought out that rich blue color of his eyes.

  Sure, we were both wearing workout clothes, but it was clear he’d actually been working out. It was showing.

  I had not. And it was also showing.

  For a moment we just stood there, staring at each other. He looked caught between a smile and a grimace and I was caught between putting the spaghetti in my basket or back on the shelf. Hell, maybe I would’ve been frozen like that forever in some kind of oh-my-god-here’s-my-ex-and-of-course-I-look-like-shit-don’t-move challenge.

  Then a woman’s high, bright voice called his name. He broke the stare first, turning toward the voice.

  I bolted.

  Before I even saw who it was, I’d grabbed my can of spaghetti and was out of there. Back home, I drank a whole bottle of wine in a tub that I hadn’t bothered to fill and cried while eating my cold pasta—from the can. It wasn’t just that he’d seen me frumpy and tired with greasy hair and no makeup. It wasn’t that I’d gained weight while we were together and more after he dumped me.

  It was the freaking kale.

  He had freaking kale in his plastic handcart. I knew that man. He only ate kale when he was trying.

  And he wasn’t trying for me. Not anymore.

  That night I started looking for jobs in ad agencies all over the country. The farther the better. The next morning, I woke to find an email notifying me of a brand new listing. It was for an account manager at B & B Creative Partners, an advertising agency in Castle Cove. I’d never heard of this place, but the description was perfect. And I was certain that my boss would be more than willing to get rid of me after the month I’d had.

  Two phone interviews later, I had a new job and a reason to leave Baltimore behind.

  I will never tell Spencer all of this, of course. But sometimes I imagine shouting it into his face, ending with an impassioned, so give me a break, man!

  I replay this particular daydream now as he stares me down.

  4:59.

  I log off and power down my desktop computer. I make sure all the pens end up in their black wire cup and the rainbow sticky notes are back in a pile. I like coming to work on Monday to a tidy desk. I might be totally out of control in the rest of my life, but my desk is together and ready for action, damn it.

  Even if I’m not.

  5:00.

  “Have a great weekend, Spencer,” I call, offering a cheerful wave.

  He says nothing. What an a-hole.

  I can’t get out of this building fast enough. With my bag over one shoulder, my jacket in hand, I rush toward the red exit sign and the waiting parking lot beyond. I’m almost to the door when someone calls my name.

  My stomach drops. God, what now?

  Choice 1

  Stop and see who it is

  Keep going and pretend I didn’t hear

  Stop and see who it is.

  I should’ve known it was too good to be true. A beautiful weekend at home was beginning to feel too real. I compose a smile and turn around.

  It’s Laura, my boss.

  She stands in the hallway just outside her office door with her cell phone pressed to her ear. She pulls the phone away from her head and asks, “Can I have just a minute? It won’t take long.”

  “Of course.” I soften my smile, trying to infuse it with sincerity, but I suspect the hint of desperation is still there.

  I’m glad I didn’t run into the parking lot. Blowing off the boss after the first week on the job would’ve gone over really well.

  I step into her office, and she closes the door behind us. She takes a seat at her large desk and I select a chair opposite her. And wait.

  She continues to listen to whomever is on the other end of the line. I can hear the melodic masculine voice from where I sit. I take the moment to appreciate the photos of her kids in pretty sterling silver picture frames and the luxurious navy-blue sofa in the corner.

  My phone buzzes in my bag, but I ignore it. Whoever is calling will have to wait. Laura can be rude if she wants. She cuts my paycheck.

  “All of that sounds great,” Laura says finally, tapping her nails on her desktop. They’re black with red tips. “Yes, we look forward to seeing it in action. Please send him our best regards. Thanks. Yes, you too.”

  She ends the call.

  “I apologize for the wait and for holding you over on a Friday,” she begins flashing me that brilliant white smile. I’m certain that her teeth must be veneers. They’re too perfect. Like the red hair framing her bone-white face. “I’m sure you’re as desperate for a day off as I am.”

  You have no idea.

  “Do you have plans this weekend?” she asks.

  My heart skips a beat. I don’t think she’s just curious. I have a feeling she’s going to ask me to work. Before I can decide if I should lie and make up some plans or admit to being free, she barrels on.

  “That was Ethan’s assistant, Liam, on the phone. Ethan wants you to visit Labyrinth this weekend, see the establishment first hand. He’s certain it will help you formulate a marketing plan. He’ll give you the VIP treatment of course.”

  “That’s nice.” I hope my face is neutral.

  Because I can’t say no. Ethan Benedict is the other B in the B & B Creative Partners. Apparently, Ethan Benedict and Laura Benson struck up a partnership to promote Mr. Benedict’s many businesses in Castle Cove. That makes him both my boss and my client.

  He owns First Night Theatre in Old Town. A classy renovated theatre a couple of blocks from my apartment that looks like it was cut right out of time, with its classic Broadway-esque marquee. It must’ve cost Mr. Benedict a fortune to restore it to its 1920s glory.

  He also has a restaurant in Cliffside, High Tide, focusing on seafood dishes served on pristine white tablecloths overlooking the ocean. And don’t forget The Magic Bean, a coffee shop on the edge of CCU’s campus.

  I would almost prefer any of these establishments to the velvet and leather night club I’ve been invited to. Labyrinth, a converted warehouse on the northwestern edge of town. At the very end of the Red Light district, sometimes called the Quarter. The strip of town known for its dark bars and raucous night life.

  I have no idea what I will wear.

  Laura’s lips quirk in a knowing smile. “Perhaps it isn’t your scene, but it will be good to visit anyway. Ethan would like to meet our newest Castle Cove resident.”

  Another 100-watt smile.

  “So when will you go?” she presses, tapping her nails against the desktop again.

  Not will you go, but when.

  “I’m very tired tonight,” I tell her. “But maybe after a good night of sleep…”

  “Great! I’ll tell Ethan you’l
l be there tomorrow. Club opens at 10.”

  “A.M.?”

  Laura laughs, a throaty sound. Her brown eyes catching the lamplight. “P.M. It’s a nightclub. He’ll be so pleased.”

  Her phone buzzes again and I politely excuse myself from her office before she can make any more unreasonable demands.

  As I step into the parking lot, the chilly evening licks the back of my neck and I shiver. I see a red Tesla Roadster pull out of the paved lot and turn onto Pine Creek Road, just before I spot my own car in the parking lot, two spaces down from Laura’s Lexus. I pull my coat tighter and hustle toward my car.

  As I cast nervous looks up at the swelling moon and the dancing shadows closing in. I can’t help but feel like my weekend won’t be as quiet as I planned.

  Why is that first moment when I get home so glorious? I kick off my shoes, feel my heels soften into the plush carpet and sigh. I toss the bag onto the sofa and say hello to the cat, Sushi. He meows, batting the edge of his food dish. It’s mostly full, with a small quarter-sized part of the bowl showing at the bottom. Yet he’s crying like he’s going to perish of hunger at any moment. It’s hard to resist him though. With his soft gray fur, white-socked feet and big amber eyes—he knows I’m easy prey.

  “All right, all right,” I say and add another half scoop to the bowl. He lets me pet him for a minute before batting my hand away. I’m surprised that I get away with that much, honestly.

  Sushi has been on edge since we’ve arrived in Castle Cove. I’m sure it’s the new town, new apartment, and he’ll warm up to the place soon.

  I call the pizza place listed on my fridge magnet, The Castle Cove Slice, and order a medium pizza with sausage and peppers. Stuffed crust. I do this while fishing the bottle opener out of the drawer and uncorking the chilled Moscato.

  Okay, so while I have changed my zip code to escape my ex, I have not yet made adjustments to my diet or my drinking.

  Baby steps.

  Less than five minutes later, I’m in my pajamas, cold wine glass in hand, and only thirty minutes until my pizza arrives. My bag buzzes again.