Read Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets Online
Authors: Lynn Osterkamp
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller - Paranormal - Grief Therapist - Colorado
Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets
| Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets | |
| Cleo Sims [3] | |
| Lynn Osterkamp | |
| PMI Books (2013) | |
| Tags: | Mystery; Thriller - Paranormal - Grief Therapist - Colorado |
Cleo Sims, a local grief therapist who has discovered a process that lets grieving people contact the spirits of departed loved ones, is pulled in to help by one of Sabrina's friends who is desperate to find out the truth. Cleo is reluctant to involve herself in yet another possible murder investigation, but the friend's brother is Cleo's benefactor who funds her Contact Project. When he prevails on Cleo to help find out what happened to the missing woman, she can't refuse...
“Osterkamp has
combined elements of her professional experience and the community of Boulder,
Colorado into a nicely crafted plot.
The result is a very readable mystery that kept me wondering who really
pushed Adam off the edge of the Grand Canyon right up to the point where the culprit
was unmasked.…A winner for sure.”
—TCM
Reviews
“FIVE STARS—This is a great
mystery. Cleo is a strong woman who follows her convictions in spite of
warnings from her best friend and the man she is dating…I especially like the
author’s inclusion of the supernatural in a very believable and professional
way. The author cites as references some notable and well-respected works
concerning death and the afterlife.”
—Amazon Customer
“…gets hold of you from the first page
and you can’t seem to put it down. This exciting novel by Lynn Osterkamp is
recommended to anyone who loves mysteries.
Throw in humor with a paranormal twist and you have an
adventure on your hands.”
—
BookPleasures.com
“The author did
a wonderful job of keeping the story moving, while developing characters who
were interesting and believable. Cleo was a very likeable protagonist … the
tightly knit cast of characters worked well and made this book a very enjoyable
read.”
—
Feathered Quill Book Reviews
“A very
satisfying read. The reader is kept guessing until the final pages. An added
bonus is the descriptions of great locations for recreation, food and shopping
in Boulder. A good mystery story, characters that I made a connection with, and
locations I wanted to visit—what else can you ask for in a book?”
—
Reader Views
Too Many Secrets
a novel
by
Lynn Osterkamp
PMI Books, Boulder, Colorado
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Lynn
Osterkamp
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
permission.
eISBN (Kindle): 978-1-933826-49-3
Published by PMI Books
an imprint of Preventive Measures, Inc.
254 Spruce St., Boulder, CO 80302
This book is available in
print at most online retailers.
Discover other titles by Lynn
Osterkamp at
http://www.lynnosterkamp.com
Table of
Contents
Boulder, Colorado
November 20
Rescuers
abandon search for missing Boulder woman
The Boulder County Sheriff’s Department ended the official
search today for Sabrina Larson, a Boulder nurse missing for twelve days from
The Rainbow Lakes Campground in the Indian Peaks Wilderness area. “We’ve
suspended the search indefinitely until we get additional information,” Valene
Radde, a Sheriff’s Department spokeswoman said today. “Detectives will take
over the effort as a missing persons case. If new information becomes
available, we will resume the search.”
Larson went to the Rainbow Lakes campground on Monday,
November 6 to celebrate her fortieth birthday as part of a group of six Boulder
women, one of whom, Rivka Ravenstar, is a Wiccan high priestess and the owner
of Wiccan Wilderness Journeys. Ravenstar said, “Sabrina wanted to
celebrate the life passage of her fortieth birthday with a personal journey
that would allow her to enter this new stage of life consciously with strength,
compassion, honor, humility, and reverence. She asked me to guide her and our
friends through a purifying spiritual ceremony and a wilderness journey. Part
of the process involves spending quiet, reflective hours in the company of
nature until our souls echo the earth’s harmony. Sabrina has not returned from
her exploration, but we have not given up hope.”
Ravenstar reported that on Monday night the women
participated in traditional Wiccan rituals of casting a circle, singing,
dancing and sharing a community meal. Tuesday morning they each set off on a
24-hour silent expedition of prayer and meditation. They took only rain gear,
water, a knife, and raw organic food bars—no cell phones or other
electronic devices. The women were due to return to the campground at sunrise
on Wednesday, November 8. When Larson had not returned by noon of that day,
Ravenstar called the Boulder County Sheriff.
Although the weather in the Indian Peaks area was
unseasonably warm on November 6th and 7th, it turned cold and snowy during the
afternoon of November 8.
Since Larson was reported missing, teams of searchers from
the Boulder County Sheriff’s Department, the Rocky Mountain Rescue Group, Front
Range Rescue Dogs, and other groups have combed the Indian Peaks Wilderness
area in an extensive ground search. Despite snowfall and freezing temperatures
last week, more than 100 professional rescue team members coordinated by the
Sheriff’s Office, complemented by nearly as many citizen and military
volunteers continued to scour the vicinity without success. Also, a Denver
Police Department helicopter flew repeatedly over the area with Forward Looking
Infra-Red (FLIR) equipment, looking for any significant heat sources, like the
heat generated by a human body, within the search area. Unfortunately, nothing
that couldn’t be attributed to another source, such as a rescue team member, was
found.
Larson’s friends and relatives are hopeful that she will be
found alive. Her sister, Brandi Peyton, said, “Sabrina has a strong heart. She
does what is right for her to be in control of her destiny. We have confidence
that she will come back to us.”
Larson is 5 feet 5 inches tall, weighs 125 pounds and has
short blond hair and blue eyes. She was last seen wearing jeans, a dark green
fleece jacket, and brown Merrell hiking boots.
Anyone with information regarding Larson’s whereabouts is
asked to call the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office at 303-441-4444.
December 11
Waves of nausea overwhelmed me as I rushed into Turley’s
Restaurant at noon that icy December day. A blast of hot air smelling of fish,
burgers, onions and such sent me careening to the ladies room to avoid puking
on the dining room floor. Amazingly, once I was inside the safety of the stall,
I managed to avert the worst, containing my sickness to dry heaves. I hurried
out to the sinks to make myself presentable for my lunch meeting with Bruce,
the local dot-com millionaire who funds an experimental project that is a major
part of my grief-therapy practice. I was a wreck. I’d had a miserable morning,
I was late to a meeting with Bruce who prizes promptness, and my shaky
queasiness exacerbated my anxiety about why Bruce had summoned me.
As I calmed my breathing and dabbed at my face with a wet
paper towel, the ladies room door flew open, letting in a tall blond woman
wearing designer jeans and a red ribbed turtleneck, topped with a necklace of
multicolored glass beads. My best friend Elisa, looking stunning as always. We
both jumped in surprise, then she darted over and enveloped me in a welcome
hug. “Cleo? Honey, you look under the weather. Is the morning sickness getting
worse?”
“Shhh,” I said. “Let’s not spread the news all over Boulder.”
I wasn’t ready to tell the world about my pregnancy, since I was only three
months along, and Pablo and I aren’t married. So far Elisa and Pablo are the
only ones who know.
Elisa pulled back, looking up and down the room. “Sorry for
the blabbing, but you know me. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain.
The good news is it looks like we’re alone in here. Now let’s fix you up a
little,” she said, straightening my sweater. She grabbed a comb out of her bag
and worked some magic on my hair.
I felt better right away. Elisa is like a big sister to me.
The kind of sister who knows how to do stuff you don’t, but never makes fun of
you. She just helps.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, “but I have to run. I’m already
late for my lunch meeting with Bruce.” I headed for the door.
Elisa waved me on. “Oh—you’re meeting Bruce! Well hang
in there, honey, and call me later with the scoop.”
Back in the dining area, I scanned the room a couple of
times. Didn’t see Bruce. Deep breath. Maybe I’m not as late as I thought? But
no, there he is sitting with a petite dark-haired woman in a booth next to a
brick wall. Unexpected. Bruce is a brilliant guy who works all the time.
Divorced. No social life. Who is this woman and why did he bring her?
I hustled over to their table and slid into the booth across
from them, my mind on autopilot running through possible menu choices that my
gut would be willing to tolerate. “Sorry to be late,” I muttered, hoping my
winning smile would distract from my tardiness. “Good to see you, Bruce.”
“Hi, Cleo, I thought you forgot. This is my sister, Gayle.
She needs your help.”
Whew! A relief on that score. Good to know he hadn’t summoned
me to talk about problems with the funding for my Contact Project.
Gayle gave Bruce a poke. “Whoa, Bruce. This isn’t a
computer-programming job. It’s personal. Let’s take a few minutes before we
dive in.”
“Okay, let’s order first, then talk,” he said, burying his
face in the menu.
As we perused our menus, Gayle’s cell phone rang. She
answered, and jumped up. “No,” she said sharply into the phone. “That’s not
acceptable.” She turned to us. “I have to take this,” she said. “Be right
back.” She dashed toward the door, talking intently into the phone with her
hand over her other ear to block the restaurant noise.
“Gayle’s a real estate agent,” Bruce explained. “Her phone is
her life.”
We sat quietly looking at our menus. Bruce isn’t much of a
talker. He’s a techie. Brainy, but basically shy. Even though he’s forty-five
and a self-made multi-millionaire, his social skills aren’t well developed.
He’s one of those guys who goes around looking at the floor or off into the
distance so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. Small talk is definitely not
his forte.
Gayle darted back across the room to our booth. “Sorry,” she
said. “I’m ready to order if you two are.”
I took a last look at the menu. Turley’s trademark is its
healthy food, and in addition to more traditional lunch and dinner entrees,
they serve breakfast all day. Knowing I needed protein for the baby, I decided
on a garden omelet with mushrooms, spinach, and tomato with toast on the side.
Hoped I could get it down with the help of a ginger ale. Bruce ordered a
buffalo burger with a side of fresh fruit, and Gayle ordered the sesame spinach
salad with the dressing on the side.
“So like I was saying,” Bruce began as the waitress left to
turn our orders in, “Gayle needs some help from you.”
I turned to her. “Would you like to tell me about it?”
She took a deep breath and launched in to her story. “You’ve
probably heard about the woman who went missing from the Rainbow Lakes
Campground in the Indian Peaks Wilderness area a few weeks ago.”
“I did,” I said. “Do you know her?”
Gayle looked down at the table silently for a couple of
minutes, her shoulders slumped as if the weight of her problem was a burden too
heavy to lift. When she finally looked up, tears streamed down her face. “She’s
my best friend, Sabrina—or maybe I should say she
was
my best friend. She’s probably dead. But they can’t find her
and we don’t know what happened to her and that’s even worse.” She wiped her
face with a tissue, but her tears continued to flow.
Bruce put his arm around Gayle’s shoulders and hugged her.
More empathy than I would have expected from him, but then again until today I
didn’t even know he had a sister. All I know about Bruce is what he told me in
his grief therapy sessions after his eighteen-year-old daughter died from a
drug overdose. He’s such a private person, he would have never come for grief
counseling except that his business partner—who saw how paralyzed Bruce
was after his daughter’s death—insisted. Bruce’s relationship with his
daughter had been stormy for several years before she died, and his deep
regrets that they hadn’t made peace had intensified his grief.
Gayle continued wiping her face as she struggled to regain
her composure. But I could see grief winning out. “Take your time,” I
said gently. “I know it’s hard to talk about.”
Her face crumpled. “I’ve cried so much in the past few weeks
that I’ve made myself sick,” she sobbed. “I’m totally devastated about
Sabrina.”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and collected
herself. “Okay. I’m ready to tell you the story,” she said quietly. “I was part
of the group at the campground—there were six of us who’ve been friends
for years. We each went off separately on our personal journeys and Sabrina
never came back. We searched, the rescue groups searched, the dogs searched,
the helicopter searched. But no one has found her. And now they’re calling off
the search.” She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat.
The waitress showed up with our lunch. I took a quick bite,
which actually tasted good. Bruce spread mustard on his burger and bit in.
Gayle picked at her salad. “I was blown away when Bruce told
me about your Contact Project—that he actually talked to his daughter
Charlene after she died and how he resolved things with her,” she said, her
voice perking up a little. “At first I didn’t believe him when he said you put
him in your apparition chamber. It’s so unlike Bruce to have anything to do
with the paranormal. He debunks everything. When he told me he reached
Charlene, and they forgave each other and said goodbye, I knew it was real for
him.”
Bruce put his burger down. “I don’t debunk everything,” he
said.
“Ha!” Gayle said. “Remember when I played the DVD of that
movie,
What the Bleep Do We Know?
for
you last year? You went on and on about how it misrepresented science, that it
was pseudoscience, and quantum mysticism. You weren’t open to it at all, even
though so many people liked it that it’s made over $16 million.”
Bruce scowled. “Gayle, the science was unsupported and
incorrect. New Age hogwash. One of their so-called experts turned out to be a
35,000 year-old spirit from Atlantis.” Bruce gave her a self-satisfied grin as
he speared a chunk of pineapple with his fork and returned to eating.
She laughed and gave him another poke. “Bruce, I’ve told you
before, you totally missed the point. The movie is supposed to blow your mind,
not engage it in an analysis. It’s about learning to become the creative force
in your own life, instead of being a victim of circumstances. My friends and I
have watched it over and over. We know group consciousness can change reality.
If you looked up from your computer now and then, you’d see.”
They were off the track here, but I hesitated to break into
habitual brother-sister banter. Also, I figured Gayle needed a few minutes to
relax before we talked more about her missing friend. I focused on my lunch,
thankful I could eat without gagging.
Bruce ignored Gayle’s jeers and turned to me. “Here’s the
thing, Cleo,” he said. “Gayle needs to go into your apparition chamber and try
to contact Sabrina to find out if she’s dead or alive. She needs to know and
the sooner the better.”
Uh oh. As soon as Gayle said they didn’t know whether or not
Sabrina was dead, I should have guessed this was what Bruce wanted. But my
apparition chamber is for grief-therapy clients who want to reach a loved one
to resolve an issue, not for solving missing-person cases. I didn’t want to
refuse Bruce’s request, but I had concerns about Gayle. “I understand that it’s
hard not knowing what happened to your friend,” I said. “But the contact
process may not make you feel any better.”
Gayle looked straight into my eyes. “It’s not about how I
feel,” she said intensely. “It’s about how Sabrina’s sister Brandi has taken
over Sabrina’s house and her son Ian. Sabrina would be furious. She expressly
didn’t want that to ever happen. If she’s dead, everything is in trust for Ian,
and I’m Ian’s guardian. But Brandi jumped in as soon as Sabrina went missing,
and right now she has control. So I need to know if Sabrina is dead or alive.”
“I’m not sure the contact process can answer that question,”
I said. “You could try to reach her, but if you do, it wouldn’t constitute
legal proof of her death, and if you don’t, that doesn’t mean she’s alive.”
Bruce broke in. “Actually I’d already thought of that,” he
said. “I want you to do a thorough job. If Gayle can’t reach Sabrina, then the
other women who were up there should try. In fact, why not start by meeting
with all of them and telling them about the process. Get some of that group
consciousness going. I’ll pay for your time—whatever it takes.”
Before I had a chance to think about how else to voice my
reservations, Bruce slid out of the booth, stood up, and picked up his coat. “I
have to go. You two can go on from here. Gayle can keep me updated.” He nodded
at us and headed for the door.
“Oof!” Gayle said. “That’s my brother. Makes his point, and
ducks out before the discussion gets complicated. But I suppose you’re used to
his tactics.”
I shrugged. I’d have to go along, at least for a while. Not
only had Bruce been very generous in funding my Contact Project, all he’d asked
of me was that I operate professionally and that he remain anonymous as a
funder. So even though the timing wasn’t ideal for me to get involved in a
situation that smelled like trouble, I didn’t see any other options. “No
problem,” I said. “Here’s my card. Call me and we can set up a time to talk
more.”