Crimson at Cape May by @OverbeckRandy is a Trick or Treat Bonanza pick #ghoststory #wrpbks #giveaway



Title: CRIMSON AT CAPE MAY

Author: Randy Overbeck

Genre: Ghost Story/Mystery

Book Blurb:

What if you needed to escape a haunted past and a town furious with you for exposing its ugly secret? With no job and few options, Darrell Henshaw—teacher, coach and paranormal sensitive—heads for Cape May to accept an offer to coach a summer football camp. And the resort town, with gorgeous beaches, rich history and famous Victorian mansions, might be just the getaway he needs.

Only, no one told him Cape May is home to even more horrors as the most haunted seaport on the East coast. The new town launches his gift of seeing ghosts into overdrive and one resident ghost, the Haunted Bride, stalks him, begging for help. Darrell can’t refuse.

Joining forces with Cassie, a street-wise teen and another sensitive, he investigates the bride’s death and discovers an even greater crime. Can Darrell and Cassie expose the killer before they meet the same fate?

Watch the book trailer: https://youtu.be/oV37GXxwJKw

Excerpt:

There was something off about her.

Darrell Henshaw had first spotted the woman on

the Promenade near the corner of the Cape May

Convention Hall. Huddled in the shadows, her long

white dress soiled and torn, she stared at him with sad

blue eyes that might have once been enchanting, but

now seemed haunting. With her dirty blonde hair, a

pallid face, and ragged clothes, he thought she was

simply another homeless person. He’d heard

panhandlers like to set up under the shade of the

Convention Hall, on the famous beach and across from

the meticulously restored Victorian houses. That is,

until the cops ran them off.

After he used the faucet to rinse off his feet from

his walk in the surf, he dried them with a towel he’d

brought along. Between the water and the cloth, he

fussed to make sure not one grain of sand clung to his

feet. He’d had another full day at the junior high

football camp where he was assisting, and he only

wanted to get to his room and collapse. After losing his

teaching and coaching job in Wilshire, he was glad for

this gig. He shot another glance over at the woman. He

didn’t need any complications.

He slipped his shoes back on and started walking,

keeping the woman in his peripheral vision. Unlike

other homeless he’d seen, she held no sign or bucket to

beg for money. Instead, as he passed, she extended

small, bony hands and said, “Please help me,” the

words so soft he could barely hear them. Darrell

pretended he didn’t see her. He didn’t feel good about

it, but he kept moving anyway.

As he made his way around the front of the

Convention Hall, Darrell sensed movement behind him

and glanced back. The woman rounded the corner,

coming his way. He ambled across Beach Avenue,

strolled past a few stores and then ducked into the

alcove of a gift shop. He knew he was being paranoid,

but with his experience back in Wilshire, he couldn’t

help it.

Stopping beside the glass window, Darrell chanced

a look back. Across the avenue, the Convention Hall

loomed to his right, its scrubbed gray stone and blue

windows looking almost like some Greek temple. It

was flanked by the wide stretch of a white sand beach,

still populated by tourists in colorful swimsuits. He

craned his neck and examined his side of the street,

studying the restaurants, beach shops, and bars that

fronted the road. The woman stood, about four shops

down, waiting. Did she see him? He yanked his neck

back inside the alcove.

A small bell tinkled and he jumped. As the door

opened, the aroma of homemade fudge wafted out. His

stomach growled in response. He’d worked hard at

football camp today, running drill after drill with the

teens in the blistering Jersey sun, and hadn’t had time to

eat. An older woman with a tight bun of brunette hair

exited the store and walked around him, giving him a

wide berth and raised eyebrows.

Darrell ignored her and peeked his head around

the corner again, careful not to touch the grimy glass.

She was still back there, not more than fifty feet down

the walk—he caught a glimpse of her disheveled,

shoulder-length blonde hair—just standing there, watching.

Waiting for him?

Working hard to not glance behind, Darrell headed out

again. As soon as he stepped out of the alcove, the salty

breeze off the water hit him.

He hurried on, his feet stumbling on the sidewalk.

When he stole another glimpse back, she was keeping

up with him.

Darrell couldn’t believe he was being followed.

Picking up the pace, he turned up Ocean Street,

trying to figure out where he was. On the right, he

recognized the distinctive pink architecture of another

Victorian. He remembered it. He was heading toward

his boardinghouse and didn’t want her to follow him

there. In the middle of the block, he started across,

dodging between passing cars, and turned onto

Carpenters Street. Both drivers hit their horns hard,

making Darrell dart across. He grabbed a quick breath

and glanced back again. A few houses down, his

shadow stepped out between the cars and eased across

the street, apparently oblivious to the traffic.

He cursed aloud, his paranoia full tilt now. Staring

at his feet and counting his steps, he hooked a left onto

Decatur.

Why would this woman pursue him?

Now a safe distance away, he studied her. She was

thin, with a small, drawn face of pasty skin, and he

would’ve guessed her to be about his age, mid-twenties.

But there was something about her, something that

made him shiver. Did she have a black eye? Were those

cuts on her cheek? Why hadn’t he noticed those before,

when he passed her on the Promenade?

He sped up, the street crowded, congested with

tourists. Normally, the jostling bodies would’ve given

him the creeps, but today he was grateful for the

numbers so he could blend in.

As he turned back onto Beach Avenue again, the

sight of the beautiful blue ocean across the road struck

him and he stopped for a moment, then chanced a peek

back around the corner. No sign of his stalker.

He reduced his pace, easing past a beach shop, and

saw his reflection in the store front. That gave him an

idea.

Ahead, he spied a coffee shop with two long

windows facing the street, the panes so sparkling clean

he could see the image of the sun hanging over the

ocean in the glass. As he walked along, he turned his

head to catch his image and, when he was far enough

along, he glanced sideways at the window. Trailing

behind him, he could make out, reflected in the glass,