Sisterly Screams (The Dead-End Drive-In Series Book 1)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SISTERLY SCREAMS
PROLOGUE
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
Sisterly
Screams
The Dead-End Drive-In Series
Book One
By
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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SISTERLY SCREAMS
The Dead-End Drive-In Series Book One
PROLOGUE
The bayou was filled with a low mist that night, a swirling mass of ghosts along the soft ground and across the murky water. While it wasn’t anything out of the norm for that particular portion of Louisiana, right in the heart of rural Cajun Country, something about it gave Don Delta the shivers.
He’d been back and forth through this area, and all up and down the southern portion of the United States, time and time again. It was the benefit and plight of a traveling salesman to constantly venture along the same routes in an attempt to eke out a simple living.
For Don, however, it was more than that. He relished in the travels, enjoying his freedom from any familial or permanent constraints. He found everyday sport in the bidding and bartering that came with the territory of being a salesman.
His specialty was in antique knick-knacks, little dust collecting trinkets that some elderly plantation owner down the road would be willing to fork out a tidy sum for. Dolls, stuffed animals, mugs, jewelry, paperweights, mantel decorations, and shot glasses were just a handful of the many items he might carry along with him in the back of his truck.
The whole vehicle jangled as he drove along the bumpy bayou backroad. The interior of his truck acted as something of a miniaturized antique shop—going as far as to have wood paneling on all the walls and a decorative rug on the floor, making it feel homey.
Additionally, the exterior of the truck was painted like the scenery of a play, to look like a New Orleans storefront, with a sign above the “door” indicating it as Antiquaries to Go.
The whole thing rocked back and forth like a boat on choppy water, and Don—for the first time in months—was beginning to feel its effects on his body.
Usually, on a night such as that night, he would have ventured to find a motel or other lodging to stay for the duration of the evening. This time, however, he had hoped to reach the small out-of-the-way town of Sunken Grove by sunrise.
He had a few prospective customers in the little hamlet, and even a few people he was hoping to buy new merchandise from.
Unfortunately, at that very moment, as he made his way across the misty expanse of trees and water, he regretted his decision not to stop. A low yawn came from his engine, followed by a clanking noise that announced the vehicle’s involuntary choice to shut down.
“No, no, no,” he muttered. “Come on.”
Turning the key over and over, he begged for the engine to fire itself back into life again. Instead, it only uttered groans and gurgles in protest—not unlike a teenage boy on a school-day morning.
“Gosh dang,” he complained, opening the driver side door and squeezing his bulbous belly out from behind the steering wheel. “What’s wrong with you now?” Walking around to the front of the truck, he opened the hood and coughed as a fresh batch of steam came pouring out.
Taking an instinctive step backward, waving the hot steam away from his face, his foot caught on a crack in the road, testing his balance. Shouting out in surprise, he found himself tumbling down onto the side of the road and rolling into the wet weeds at the water side.
“Dag nabit,” he screamed into the air, pulling himself up from the soggy earth. His brown tweed suit was completely soaked through on one side, and he had no other clean clothes at the moment. (Laundry was another item on his to-do list when he got into Sunken Grove).
Brushing himself off from bits of mud and foliage, he stopped cold when something caught his eye—something floating in the water.
Running back to the cab of his truck to grab the small emergency flashlight he kept there, he turned it on and shined it out along the watery portion of the bayou. As the beam fell upon the large mass in the water, Don felt his face go cold with sweat.
Floating face down in the muck was a dead body.
Stumbling backward and running to his truck, he could hear the distinct sound of jungle drums somewhere in the distance.
CHAPTER 1
By the time Anna-Lee Francis had reached the Louisiana border, she could feel the air growing heavy around her. It had begun back in mid-Texas when the first signs of the change in the weather were apparent. Compared to the high altitude, low-moisture, low oxygen atmosphere of the Denver area where she had spent the last two years, she basically felt like she could swim without ever even getting in the water.
Overall, it was a sensation she did not enjoy. Already, her naturally wavy brown hair was beginning to frizz up and her blouse was starting to stick to her skin. Worse than all of that, however, was the reminder that she was getting close to home—one of the last places she wanted to be.
She’d been driving for an entire day and still had a few more hours ahead of her before she reached her destination. Exhausted from her time spent on the highway, she felt the need to stop at a motel for the night. Not only would it be good for her to rest before continuing down the winding Great River Road, but it was another excuse to put off arriving in her hometown of Sunken Grove.
Sunken Grove was an out of the way small t
own built right on the Bayou, just a couple of hours outside of New Orleans. The downtown area had been constructed on one larger piece of land while houses, plantations, and other small business were built up around on adjoining islands.
A few older buildings and structures—most built before the town was officially settled—had poor foundations or were constructed over unstable ground, and as a result, they’d sunken partway into the bayou. It gave these small, abandoned portions of the scenery an eerie look, and were also the reason for first part of the town’s name: Sunken.
Much of the area—particularly the less traveled or abandoned parts—was covered in dense trees and foliage, thus giving the town the second part of its name: Grove.
The occasional tourist would drive through to see the strange arrangement of scenery, but ultimately Sunken Grove wasn’t high on the list of hot spots to visit in Louisiana.
However, there was one place in the small town that made a few more tourists interested in paying a visit in the past year. The establishment in question was a specialty movie theater called the Voodoo Drive-In and BBQ.
The theater was known for only showing old horror and science fiction movies. Fashioned after nineteen-fifties drive-in movie theaters from years gone by, the business had become popular among people who were either movie buffs, cult movie fans, or missed the good ol’ days of double features.
Of course, it wasn’t only the old movies and classical atmosphere alone which kept the customers coming back. At the entrance to the theater was a two-story brick building which at one time had been a rundown warehouse. After the renovation, the main floor had become a restaurant which served some of the best southern comfort food and BBQ around.
The second story of the building had been converted into a small apartment in which the owner lived.
Anna sighed even thinking about it. This establishment and its owner were the main reason she was dreading her return to the small town. Sarah-Belle Francis was the creative mind behind the theater’s realization and was also Anna’s very own sister.
Two and a half years prior, while Belle was having fanciful dreams of buying the old rundown, warehouse along with the adjoining empty backlot, Anna was scolding her sister for not being more grounded. Having spent much of her life worrying about her sister, she couldn’t bear to watch Belle throw away good money on an irresponsible investment.
She had told Belle that the dream of opening a theater—especially a drive-in that only played old horror movies—was a sure-fire way to go bankrupt fast. After all, no one went to drive-ins anymore, and surely no one cared about those horrible old movies either . . . right?
At least, that was what Anna thought at the time.
Of course, the fact that her sister was a magnificent cook helped. The dinner part of dinner and a movie really had helped to solidify the Voodoo Drive-In and BBQ as a staple of the community—despite having only been open a year.
While her sister was pursuing her dreams, Anna had finally decided that she couldn’t stay in Sunken Grove—or around her irresponsible sister—for another moment. Running off to Denver, Colorado, she was determined to get a degree in something “useful” and “logical.” After all, Anna had always been the more responsible and down to earth of the two sisters. Heck, she’d even helped raise Belle in her later teen years after both of their parents had passed away in an unexpected car accident.
But now, Anna was going to have to eat crow, returning home to ask Belle for help. The cost of living in Denver, the apartment, the food, the insurance, and the tuition fees on top of that, was all too much. She had bottomed out only two years into her nursing degree.
She couldn’t pay the bills any longer and dreaded taking out any more student loans. With no other answer to her problems, she’d dropped out, packed up her small clunker of a car, and headed back toward Louisiana to beg her sister to let her stay with her for a little while—at least until she could get back on her feet.
However, if she could put it off just a little longer, she was going to. At the first sign of civilization, Anna pulled off the road and into the cheapest looking motel she could find and walked inside.
“How much is a room for the night?” she asked, looking around at the stained carpets and peeling wallpaper, wondering if staying in a place like this was such a good idea.
“It’s forty-nine for a single bed,” the man behind the counter, wearing a furry mustache and a plaid shirt, told her.
Sighing with disappointment, Anna knew it wasn’t worth it. “Never mind,” she said and headed back outside.
She’d just have to drive the rest of the night. By morning, she’d be facing her sister.
CHAPTER 2
“Morning, Valerie,” Belle smiled from behind the counter, noticing the police chief’s wife stepping through the front door.
It was only nine in the morning, and the Voodoo Drive-In and BBQ didn’t technically open until four in the afternoon. However, Valerie Bronson was more than a dine-in patron or movie goer. For Belle, she was like a second mother.
After their parents had passed away, Valerie had been there at the house every night with food—shrimp and andouille gumbo, cornbread and filé, collard greens and pepper sauce, chicken planks and mashed potatoes—and to make sure the girls were alright, especially Belle.
Belle was the younger of the two sisters, four years younger to be exact, and she’d only been fifteen when their parents passed. Her older sister Anna had been a decent and responsible guardian to Belle for the rest of her high school years, but it was Valerie who had really become the comforting, loving, “home-cooking,” mother.
Nowadays, Valerie came into the restaurant nearly every day and helped to cook and clean and do other services. Belle had tried to officially hire her, to pay her for the help, on many occasions, but Valerie had dragged her feet about the issue.
I don’t want a part-time job, dear. She used to say. I ain’t a charity case.
Finally, just two weeks prior, Belle had finally convinced her to come on as an assistant manager at the Voodoo Drive-In. It had taken some serious persuasion on Belle’s part, claiming she couldn’t run the place without her, that it only felt like home with Valerie there, and other praises like that.
Okay, okay, I’ll do it, Valerie had said, waving a hand irritably. Just stop kissing up.
The clincher was the fact that almost all of the food, recipes, and dishes they served were somehow inspired by Valerie’s cooking through the years.
“Morning, honey,” Valerie smiled at the blonde-haired beauty as she walked behind the bar, her large woven purse in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “Did you get breakfast this morning?”
Belle shook her head. “Didn’t have time. We were almost completely out of pepper sauce, so I came right down to make some.”
Valerie tisked and shook one long dark finger at her. “Honey, you live right upstairs. You don’t even have to drive out here for work. You’d think you could find just a tiny bit of time for breakfast?”
Belle rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Val. I’ve heard it a thousand times.”
“And you’re going to hear it again,” she informed her, holding out the paper bag.
“What’s that?”
“Beignets,” she announced. “Made em’ fresh this morning.”
“Sheesh, Val. How early did you get up?”
“Early enough to make myself, my husband, and my self-adopted daughter breakfast.” She shook the bag, indicating Belle should take them.
Shaking her head with a smile on her face, she took the bag. Opening it she inhaled the powdery sugar smell, suddenly realizing just how hungry she actually was. The small square pastries were still warm from the fryer and sprinkled with the classical sweet white topping.
“Hold on,” Val interrupted. “You can’t have beignets without coffee.” Leaning down under the counter, she pulled out the coffee pot they kept there and plugged it in. Inserting a fresh filter and a scoop of ground
s.
“Can’t I have just one while the coffee brews?”
“Just one,” she ordered, holding up her index finger.
Reaching into the bag, Belle eagerly pulled out the warm breakfast treat and took a bite. The soft doughy inside melted in her mouth.
“Good, huh?”
“They’re always good, Val.”
“I know,” she pronounced proudly. “All of my food is good.”
“Which is why I need you here at the restaurant to help me,” she pointed out again, for the third time that week.
“I get it, I get it,” she shook her head, pulling the green scarf tied in her hair more taught. “You don’t have to constantly rub it in.”
“I’m just happy you finally agreed to let me hire you,” she beamed.
Valerie shrugged. “Not like I was doing much else. I could follow my fool of a husband around while he settles neighbor’s squabbles and shoos gators away from people’s houses.”
“Dan is sweet.”
“Sweet, but a fool. How he ever got to be police chief I’ll never know.”
Belle laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Well, can you blame him? It’s not like much happens around here except for the occasional storm.”
“Oh my,” Val exclaimed, “I’d nearly forgotten.” She softly hit herself on the side of the head. “I’d forget my own brain if I could.”
“What? What did you forget, this time?”
“Dan got called out last night on an emergency.”
“Emergency?” Belle gasped. “What sort of emergency?”
“Well, he couldn’t tell me when he left last night, but this morning he came in to grab some breakfast before heading back out.”
“Out to where?”
“The bayou.”
“What’s happening out there?”
“You won’t believe this,” Valerie whispered as if she were almost afraid someone was listening, “but that traveling salesman, Don, found a dead body floating in the bayou last night.”