Movies and Murder Read online

  Table of Contents

  Movies and Murder

  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

  Movies

  and

  Murder

  The Dead-End Drive-In Series

  Book Four

  By

  Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Copyright 2018 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.

  Author’s Note: On the next page, you’ll find out how to access all of my books easily, as well as locate books by best-selling author, Summer Prescott. I’d love to hear your thoughts on my books, the storylines, and anything else that you’d like to comment on – reader feedback is very important to me. Please see the following page for my publisher’s contact information. If you’d like to be on her list of “folks to contact” with updates, release and sales notifications, etc…just shoot her an email and let her know. Thanks for reading!

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  Movies

  and

  Murder

  The Dead-End Drive-In Series

  Book Four

  Prologue

  * * *

  It was yet another one of his night time runs through the eerily quiet bayous of Sunken Grove, Louisiana. The sky was illuminated with a bright flash, foretelling of the approaching spring rainstorm. Antique salesman Don Delta navigated the dark road, grumbling to himself about the oncoming storm. If there was one thing he disliked more than driving the rural wetland roads at night, it was driving them during a nasty storm.

  Sometimes, Don wondered if the antiques game was even worth it. While it seemed nice to be self-employed, he found himself at the beck and call of every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the region at all hours.

  He wasn’t his own boss, he was the lackey to all the antique collectors in Louisiana.

  Part of the trouble was the old folks. Between indigestion, arthritis, breathing trouble, and the regular aches and pains of aging, many of them sat up nights watching the antiques channel on cable. They’d see something they wanted or took a fancy to and the next thing you knew, Don was getting a phone call at one a.m.

  On top of that, he’d get tips about a great new buy across the state and off he’d go, driving through the night to be the first person to be there. Half the time, whatever the “great buy” happened to be was nothing but old junk he couldn’t sell for a nickel.

  He supposed it was his own fault. It was the nature of Antiques to Go. The tagline on the side of his truck said Anytime, Anywhere, Antiques will be there. Going from place to place was the nature of his traveling antique store. He was just asking for trouble, he now realized after countless years in the game.

  In his usual fashion, he puttered down the backwoods roads, never exceeding forty-miles an hour. Not only was the engine on the rickety truck not powerful enough to reach fifty (not without risking blowing the whole thing up) but he never wanted to break any of the valuable goods stowed in the back.

  Many residents of the area called the monstrosity the shop on wheels because the interior of the truck was designed to look like you’d just stepped into a real antique store. The sides of the truck were also painted to look like a New Orleans storefront, thus adding some charm to his little traveling business.

  Most of the time, the creaking and rocking noises of his “shop” riding behind him as he drove through the night helped to calm his nerves—especially through these long stretches of the dark bayou.

  Tonight, however, it resembled the sound of something following him, creeping up from behind. Sometimes he let his imagination run wild. He’d see some sort of swampy, dripping creature leap through the glass window on the back of the cab, grabbing him and dragging him through to his doom.

  Shivering against the chilly night air, he tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

  It didn’t help that Sunken Grove was such a strange and eerie place on its own. Half submerged tombstones, crypts, and houses dotted the landscape. To him, they looked like corpses rising from their graves—and in some real way, they were.

  Sometimes, he wondered if there were any ghosts hiding away in those submerged rooms.

  The habitable buildings in town weren’t exactly close to one another either. The occasional light from a porch or a window blinked between the trees at him.

  The fact was, he always dreaded coming to Sunken Grove. He’d had more than one odd run-in while visiting the tiny Louisiana town, with dead bodies, murder victims, and—arguably in his opinion—ghosts.

  Coming around a bend, a sense of relief washed over Don as he spotted a familiar roadside pit stop. Timmy’s Tune Up was a small one-pump gas station and convenience store where Don often stopped for a late night fill up on both gas for his car and coffee with snacks for himself. His mouth was already watering as he thought of the white chocolate mocha that Timmy’s coffee vending machine could make—and for only seventy-five cents, no less.

  He planned out a list of tasty late night treats in his head that he would buy, including some corn chips with habanero-cheese powder, a pack of chili-lime corn nuts, a prepackaged cinnamon roll with white icing, a sleeve of mini chocolate donuts, and a pack of red gummy fish.

  That should get him through till morning, he decided, at least until he could find one of his usual roadside restaurants for breakfast.

  Parking up beside the pump, he climbed out of the cab and could already see one of Timmy’s employees sitting inside behind the counter, a young teen who had his nose buried in a girly magazine.

  Sliding his credit card through the reader, he lifted the dispenser from the pump and inserted the nozzle into the truck. Clicking the lever to start the flow of gas, he headed for the convenience shop entrance.

  A flash of lightning in the distance created a silhouette of the wetlands beyond the shop—but also showed something else.

  Stopping in the parking lot, about halfway to the door, Don squinted his eyes to try and catch a better glimpse of whatever it was that looked so out of place.

  Another flash of light showed a misshapen figure on the bayou. If Don wasn’t mistaken, it looked to be a woman with thick strands of her hair going in all directions. Could it be someone who’d gotten lost during a late-night walk, maybe? Perhaps it was a drunk from one of the bars in town who had wandered off.

  If that was the case, they risked falling into the bayou and drowning.

  Against his better judgment, Don started heading that direction, his sense of morality taking over. He couldn’t very well just let some poor woman stay out there on her own, not with a storm rolling in.

  He wouldn’t be a gentleman if he didn’t at least go out to see if the woman needed any help.

  “Hello?” he called out as he entered the tree line, his voice overshadowed by a low rumble of thunder. His loafers squished in the wet earth, and he could just imagine having to scrape off the mud later.

  He couldn’t worry about that now.

  “Excuse me. Ma’am? Do you need some help?” he asked.

  A flash of light showed him where she was again and he noted that her hair was in even greater distress than he’d first imagined. He could only imagine the rest of her. It was a good thing he was getting to her now.

  “Ma’am, you don’t need to be afraid. I’m a friend.”

  In the darkness, it was hard to tell where he was stepping. Finally, he came to the spot where he was sure he’d seen the woman.

  “Hello?” he asked.

  A flash of lightning filled the area around him. Staring up, he realized he was looking into two shimmering, wicked yellow eyes—like jewels in the dark. A black slit of a pupil, not unlike venomous snakes, bore down upon him.

  Don let out a shriek of terror and threw his arms up in front of his face to shield himself from the horrible stare. . .

  But he knew it was too late.

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  The ground andouille sausage sizzled the minute it hit the pot, releasing its familiar—and comforting—aroma of spices including paprika, garlic, and high Scov
ille cayenne. Sarah-Belle inhaled deeply, a smile brimming on her pink lips. Picking up her metal spatula, she began the process of breaking up the meat and stirring it in the large soup pot.

  It was Friday morning and she knew that a lot of hungry guests would be attending the Voodoo Drive-In Theater and BBQ that night. With it being spring, and the air heating up, more people would be wanting to get out and enjoy the classic experience of sitting in their car to watch a movie.

  If they were lucky, the rainstorms of the past few evenings wouldn’t bother hanging about. Belle instead hoped for clear, starry skies to accompany the current showing of The Brain That Wouldn’t Die.

  People would be ordering all sorts of tasty treats, desserts, and even entrees to munch on while they watched the film. Belle’s goulash was a popular dish among patrons thanks to her spicy rendition of the traditional dish.

  Letting the meat simmer, Belle walked across the industrial-sized kitchen with its metal counters and cabinets and poured herself a cup of coffee from the fresh morning batch she’d just brewed. She thought of her sister, Anna-Lee, and smiled about how she’d always drank down a whole pot without help.

  It was definitely odd not having Anna live with her anymore. It was crazy to think that it had been almost a year since her sister had moved back to their small hometown of Sunken Grove. It had been satisfying seeing her stuck-up, know-it-all sister return with her tail between her legs, broke as the day she was born.

  On the other hand, Belle had to admit it had been sad to see Anna so downtrodden. She was a smart woman who planned everything so carefully. Unfortunately, sometimes life just threw you a curveball and forced you to eat a helping of crow.

  Taking another sip from her coffee mug, Belle set it down and tightened her blonde bun atop her head—making sure her favorite pink hairnet was in place—before marching back over to continue the cooking process. Picking out a few fresh-looking onions, she started chopping.

  Anna had lived with Belle in her apartment, a tiny thing that was just upstairs, for the past eleven months. The couch had been her bed, and she did a pretty decent job of not complaining about the situation—despite being very embarrassed and ashamed of having to be there.

  Belle, having had unwarranted success in opening her own business, had given her sister a job in helping to manage the drive-in. It was only the right thing to do.

  Finally, only a week ago, Anna had been able to save up enough money from her work with her sister to get her own apartment in town. It was a tiny studio above a new bakery in the downtown area, but it was hers.

  Belle missed her sister’s banter in the mornings but felt happy to see Anna finally gain some of her pride and confidence back. Not having to sleep on her younger sister’s couch was sure to help. Anna was the kind of woman who always assumed the situation would be reversed, and the younger wide-eyed dreamer, Belle, would be asking for financial help.

  Oh, how the wheels of fate enjoyed twisting life around, Belle thought.

  Despite going broke back in Colorado, Anna was finding her footing again and her usual feisty—and somewhat unnecessarily judgmental—self was returning to fruition.

  Yes, there were definitely some benefits to having her apartment back to herself. No longer having to share with Anna meant no longer having to argue over silly things like what TV show to watch or who was in charge of doing the dishes.

  Belle chuckled to herself as she picked up the floral-patterned cutting board and dumped the onions into the pot along with some crushed cloves of fresh garlic. Giving everything a stir, she realized she was beginning to feel hungry.

  The back door opened, and Valerie stepped in. “Morning,” she sing-songed, making her way through the kitchen with her arms full of brown paper bags.

  “Good morning,” Belle said, rushing over to take some of the weight off of the older woman.

  “My goodness, Belle. It smells heavenly in here as always.”

  “I’m getting a head start on the goulash for tonight.”

  “Isn’t it a little early?” Val asked, opening one of the bags and producing a steaming, homemade beignet for Belle to take.

  Without hesitation, she took the sugary breakfast treat and bit into it, letting out a little moan of ecstasy as the familiar tastes exploded in her mouth.

  Like a mother hen, Val went over and checked on the pot, giving everything a stir.

  Once she’d swallowed her bite, Belle finally answered. “No, it’s not too early. The soup is always better if you let it simmer on low all day long. It lets all the flavors mingle together.”

  “I know that, dear. I taught it to you, for heaven’s sake,” she teased.

  “Then why are you questioning me?” she shot back at the older woman.

  “Just testing you,” she smirked, pulling her black dreadlocks back into a ponytail to keep them away from the food. She’d been working on them for a few months now and they looked more elegant each time Belle saw her.

  She’d had to buy some larger hair nets to help keep them in check in the kitchen. Thinking of it, Belle produced one for Val, who willingly took it.

  “Why don’t I get a pink one?” the older woman joked.

  “This is technically a snood. I had it specially hand made from a woman online.”

  Val tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in a look that only she could give. “You know I don’t like ordering things off the internet.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll see about getting you one as well,” she said, laughing.

  “Make mine purple, actually.”

  Belle snapped her fingers and pointed at Val. “You got it.”

  Val was like a mother to Belle, who had lost her parents during high school. Now she worked at the drive-in as well. It was turning into a regular family establishment.

  “Where is your sister?” Val asked, grabbing a beignet for herself and eating it.

  “At her own apartment, I assume.”

  “Oh, darn. I keep forgetting that she isn’t living here anymore,” she admitted, stirring the pot again.

  “Yep, she’s her own woman again,” Belle joked.

  “I notice she isn’t on time to work,” Val judged, looking at her silver watch.

  “I’m sure she just overslept. She is still getting used to her own place.”

  “You’re too lenient with her, you know?” Val said, shaking a finger.

  “Yeah, yeah, but she’s my sister. I can’t come down on her too hard. Her self-esteem has taken a hard enough hit this last year.”

  “That doesn’t mean she can’t be a little more responsible,” she pointed out.

  That was something Belle never thought she’d hear, a lecture about how Anna wasn’t being responsible enough. Their whole lives, her older sister had been the one who took charge of things and acted like the adult.

  However, being a business owner had a way of forcing you to grow up a little. Belle was still a dreamer, and always had big ideas, but it didn’t stop her from taking care of the nitty-gritty that needed to be done in the now.

  “I’ll ask her to be on time tomorrow.”

  “You do that, dear,” Val chuckled, clearly finding the sisterly dynamic humorous. If there was one person that knew Belle and Anna better than anyone, it was Valerie.

  A knock on the front door of the restaurant, echoing from the dining area through the service window, drew Belle’s attention.

  “Who could that be?” Valerie wondered out loud.

  “Our produce shipment?”

  “But he always comes to the back door.”

  Belle could only shrug as she brushed her hands off on her apron and walked toward the dining room. “Can you add the tomatoes and peppers to the pot? I’ll go and answer the door.”

  “You can count on me.”

  Pushing through the swinging double doors and appearing behind the well-stocked bar, Belle walked around it and arrived at the front door. Unlatching the deadbolt, she pulled it open and found herself staring into a pair of yellow serpent-like eyes.

  She let out a shriek as the horrific thing seemed to approach her.

  Chapter 2

  * * *