Clouds In My Coffee

Meatball taster publishing

Clouds in my Coffee

Andrea Smith

Book 2 of the ‘Limbo Series’ takes Parrish Locke to Wyoming and then even further, back to the tumultuous 70’s to help a stalled soul.

Copyright © 2014 by Andrea Smith

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted, under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author.

Violation of copyright, by domestic or foreign entities, is punishable by law, which may include imprisonment, a fine, or both.

This book is intended for mature audiences only.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9904522-8-7 (e-Book)

ISBN-13: 978-0-9904522-9-4 (Paperback)

Thanks to all of my Beta Readers, and my street team that totally rocks: Andrea’s Angels and the Foot Soldiers!

A special thank you to my PA., Catherine Wright who does an awesome job of taking care of things so that I can write! You are the best!

To Erik Gevers, who provides so much feedback, support, monumental patience and who is truly blessed—as am I—to actually have lived (and survived) the tumultuous 70’s, though in different parts of the world!

Thanks to Christine and Kelley for all of the PR support, and as always my dearest FB friends: Janett, Eva, Amber, Kim, Catherine, Stacie, Janna, S.K., JoJo, Kaylee, Candi, Erica, Christine, DawnMarie, Tiffany, Tracy and of course, Becky!!

I hope you enjoy Book 2 of this series, because it was a trip for me!

Cover Design: Kim Black

Editing: Ashley Blaschak

Formatting: Erik Gevers

My name is Parrish Elizabeth Locke and this is my story. I’m twenty-seven years old and single. I do have a significant other. His name is Ryan Van Zant and we live together when we’re in the same zip code, which, up until this point, has not been all that often. Our zip code, by the way, is 10065—that’s Manhattan.

I’m a model—the photo shoot variety—no strolling the red carpet for me. Ryan is a photo journalist with a nationally acclaimed periodical. He travels; I travel. A lot.

I’ll try to make this short and sweet—well maybe not sweet considering some of the dark content that is my life. So how about concise?

You see, I have the ability to see and communicate with ghosts under
certain
conditions. I actually prefer to call them “stalled souls” because that’s really what they are.

On one such occasion, in early December, I found myself on an icy road in Chester, West Virginia. Nothing exciting happens in perhaps one of the most obscure places on the planet.

Except to me.

That icy road I was driving on? Yeah, it landed me smack dab in the middle of a cemetery. Was it just the icy road? Or was it fate? Who knows, but I did learn quite a few things that night that I never expected to in a place like Chester.

So, the car accident I was involved in that snowy night comes into play, because in that particular cemetery where I ended up with a banged-up noggin, just happened to have a ghost wandering it. And it wasn’t just
any
ghost you see; it was the ghost of Karlie Lynn Masterson, my biological mother.

Yep! ‘Ma’, as I’ve been instructed to call her, was there. And she did what any determined, got-to-get-the-hell-outta-Limbo ghost would do. Her spirit possessed my body so that my knowledge banks would have the necessary information to tie up the loose ends of her life—and her untimely death. We took a trip to the 1980’s and, let me tell you, it was kind of cool.

I learned that the mother who raised me, Lana Jean Locke, was
not
my birth mother, but actually Ma’s best friend.

It seems Lana’s husband, and the man I
thought
was my father, Walter Locke, had mechanically compromised Karlie’s car so that she would meet her untimely death.

Of course, Mom—Lana, that is, hadn’t known and I will never tell her because I love her and because she still thinks Walter hung the moon. Walter passed away when I was five years old. I have it on good authority that he’s doing a bit of time in Purgatory, but will eventually cross over.

As it turns out, my
biological
father is a former member of a high-profile La Cosa Nostra, or mafia if you will, named Dominic Castellano. He was also the family member who worked with the FBI back in 1987 to bring
the
family down.

From there, he went into the Witness Protection Program for a few years until he deemed it safe to leave. He now goes by the name of Nick Parenti and didn’t even know I existed until recently. You see, he and Karlie loved one another like crazy.

I won’t go into their whole history together, but suffice it to say that through a series of misunderstandings, risks of eminent danger, outside interference and the usual “mob” drama, my biological mother took off, never telling him that she was pregnant with me. They were truly star-crossed lovers—the kind you read about in novels or the ones that operas are written about. I know because I witnessed it firsthand.

So, having traveled back in time with Ma’s spirit at the wheel provided me with the critical information that allowed
me
to find my father, Nick Parenti, who lives with his second wife, Sheila, in Park City, Utah, where they own a ski resort.

It has also allowed my mother and father to tie up some loose ends of their own with respect to their relationship from twenty-eight years ago and has resulted in my Dad actually buying the grave next to hers. If that’s not an indication of their undying devotion to one another, I don’t know what is.

I’m my father’s only child and he adores me. (Frankly, he’s starting to grow on me as well.)

Oh, and Sheila?

Yeah, she’s
totally
fine with it because her final resting place will be right beside the love of her life, Charlie—her first husband who passed away. So you see, it
all
worked out and Ma crossed over and now resides within the pearly gates.

But that’s not the end of the story. Oh no. That’s where
this
one begins. You see, my little accident in Chester unleashed a special
gift
that I’ve always had, but never knew about. It was dormant until that night I banged my head pretty good in the cemetery where Ma had been laid to rest. Ma made lots of friends with the other “stalled souls” or as she refers to them, “Limbonians.” Even though I can’t see Ma anymore in her spiritual form, she still visits me occasionally in my dreams, mostly for the purpose of directing me to a nearby stalled soul for help.

Yes, I agreed to give this a try for her; using my
gift
that is, in order to help other stalled souls, because I love her. I know that it means a lot to her that I help them the same way that I helped her—though seriously, I didn’t have much of a choice when she infiltrated my human body as she did.

She made her first dream appearance just last night, while Ryan and I slept in my new pink bedroom at my father’s house in Park City.

Ryan and I are here for New Year’s and we had just made mad, passionate love like never before. It’s almost as if Ma’s spirit has awakened some deep sensual passion within me. Ryan has no complaints at all. As I drifted off to sleep, there she was showing off her new look since going to heaven; rocking a new hairstyle that was no longer the 80’s look she had going while in Limbo.

Anyway, she told me of a stalled soul not too far away it seems—Evanston, Wyoming. The girl’s name is Cecily Adams and Ma provided directions to the cemetery where we’re to meet. It looks like I’ll be taking a
trip
to the ‘70’s—no pun intended.

Now, my father is vaguely aware of my
gift.
Ryan, however, is a different story. I mean, he knows about my mother’s spirit having appeared to me and he hasn’t been skeptical or judgmental about that at all. He is a very open-minded person, and it’s served him very well in his field of photo journalism, but I know he’d worry like hell if I told him about the mission I am preparing to embark on without him.

So, for now, I only plan to share this with my father. Besides, Ma assured me that I was free to decline any assignment as I saw fit. She also assured me that she could vouch for each and every Limbonian that she sends my way.

So, maybe I’ll just give this one a shot and see what happens. I mean, I’ve heard that the seventies were kind of
far out
, you know?

The sun is filtering through the mini-blinds of my ‘Pretty in Pink’ bedroom that Dad and Sheila decorated especially for me. Ryan is wrapped around me and his warm body is making me hot.

Not the ‘hot’ you’re thinking of;
uncomfortably
hot is what I’m referring to. My mind drifts back to the night before and all the racket we’d made after I’d moved the two twin beds together that had originally been against opposite walls.

Ryan and I had fucked like sex-starved maniacs on Ecstasy; I could recall the banging of the wrought-iron headboards against the wall.

Oh my God.

I have to face Dad and Sheila this morning and my face flushes warmly with embarrassment. I’m starting to see a pattern here. I recall back to when I came-to in the hospital after my car accident/ghost possession ordeal. I had been extremely horny and verbally suggestive—not concerned at all about who might be in the audience. Last night, that same feeling overwhelmed me.