What did a lifeless body found floating in the Pacific Ocean, an unused plane ticket from 1978, and a psychic’s bizarre dreams have to do with the mysterious death of Supriti Love? As a fiction writer, Timber embarks on a mission to unravel the truth, which is why she travels to the lush vineyards of CastleVine Wineries in Napa Valley. But sometimes the truth does not set you free. Instead, she finds herself trapped in a world of lies, deceit, and unimaginable horror. Can she escape, or will she end up being the victim in the world stranger than the fiction she writes? Who can she trust, and what will she need to sacrifice in order to get out alive? Is her fate already sealed, destined to be the next Ms. Love? Small Sacrifices By Rhonda Burnaugh Trafford Publishing Copyright © 2018 Rhonda Burnaugh All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4907-9129-6 CHAPTER 1 June 2, 1984 Running a slender finger down the list, Supriti murmured softly to herself. "Party favors in bags, the piñata, birthday gifts wrapped. Except the one in the barn," smiling she added, "guess you can't wrap up a pony." Sighing she reached for the telephone in the phone booth. She dialed without looking at the number. He answered on the first ring. "CastleVine Winery." "Hello is the customary response, Owen." Supriti smiled. "I called your private phone." "Sorry Supriti, I wasn't paying attention. Where are you?" Owen sounded preoccupied. "About an hour from Napa. I had to stop and get the kids lunch. They were hungry." Glancing back to Angelo and Pia who were both munching on French fries, she added, "I still have to pick up his birthday cake. I can't get his cake with him in the car, Owen." "Pick it up tomorrow. Ali has a hair appointment. I'm not sure if our housekeeper can ..." "You know how I feel about her." "Never mind. I'll watch them, but I have to be gone for a couple hours to get the pony." Owen sighed deeply into the phone. "You will be staying here, right?" Owen chuckled slightly, "Like old times?" "Ah no," she emphasized every syllable. "Seriously, what is wrong with you today?" Suddenly laughing, he said, "Hey, Ali doesn't care as long as I leave her alone. After the party perhaps, we can have a private party of our own?" His voice lowered, "I've missed you, Supriti." "I am getting a hotel room in Napa." Noting the kids were watching, she whispered, "Not negotiable, Owen." "Hotel room? That could work, too." Owen added, "But it would be easier- I mean for Angelo and Pia- if you stayed here. Ali was planning a special breakfast of blueberry and lavender pancakes." "Lavender?" Supriti frowned. "What you really mean is I will be cooking since Ali doesn't cook." Owen laughed. "True! Please say you will stay." "I'll stay, but only because I don't want his birthday ruined." She added, "and there won't be any lavender." * * * The day dawned with the same lackluster as a common cold, but by noon the sun had turned Napa Valley into a cesspool of steam and pollen. After his special birthday breakfast, Angelo turned to his stepmother Ali. "Can we go play in the barn?" Nodding, his little sister Pia glanced from her brother to their stepmom. Pigtails poking out like spikey cactuses on either side of her face, she was already on her feet. Any other day and she might have said okay, but right now they were hiding a pony in one of the stalls. Ali glanced to Supriti for a save. Supriti took the cue, "It's so muggy. Let's go swimming in the pool. How does that sound?" When both kids began hopping in a circle, she turned to Ali. "You are welcome." "Enjoy yourselves," Ali turned away, "I have to stay here and finish some details before the party." "Pity," Supriti smiled back, "If you change your mind ..." "I won't," Ali sniffed, "I'll be in the barn- with my husband." * * * Ali found Owen in the stall brushing the pony. It was all black with one white star on its forehead. Owen volunteered, "I had a pony when I was a kid." "How many bones did you break?" Peering over the rails as if she were viewing a live alligator, she added, "Or maybe a concussion. That could explain a lot." "A couple times, never broke anything." Gently stroking the pony's velvet muzzle, it nipped at him and he jerked his hand back. "Ouch. Kind of skittish, I guess. New surroundings, that's all." Ali crossed her arms, smiling slightly at the reddened area where the pony had bitten him. "How old were you, Owen? Angelo is only three years old." "Four tomorrow. Okay, maybe I was a few years older, but I won't let him go off alone. I'll be right beside him. Under my capable supervision." Owen turned his back to her, mumbling, "You worry too much, Ali. It's going to give you premature wrinkles. I already noticed some gray hairs." "You're responsible for the gray hairs." Rolling her eyes, she pressed, "By the way, where were you last night?" "Here, in the barn, I had some paperwork to complete in my office." He paused. "I was working." "Right, working." Ali turned away.