Hexes & Hijinks by Sherry Soule
Hexes
& Hijinks
Danika
Dreary Mystery Book 1
by
Sherry Soule
Genre:
Cozy Paranormal Mystery
This
book will appeal to readers of Nancy Warren, Angie Fox, Molly Fitz,
and Kate Allenton!
A whimsical matchmaker. A bizarre murder. And a psychic amateur sleuth...
Danika
Dreary’s life is a hot mess. After her latest soul-crushing crisis,
Danika moves in with her eccentric grandma, Elsie.
But
there’s a catch: Danika must work at Karma Moon within the quaint
town of Mystique, California. Except this is no ordinary new-age
bookshop, it’s also where Elsie—a legendary matchmaker—helps
the lonely residents find love.
When
Ryker Van Allan demands his money back on a true love package, Elsie
and Danika are shocked. Yet Ryker insists the woman never showed up
for the date. And he’s telling the truth—Danika has a built-in
lie detector that warns her whenever someone’s being dishonest.
That
night, the woman’s body is found near the shop, and Elsie is
accused of the murder. Danika can’t let her grandma serve time for
a crime she didn’t commit. But the victim has more enemies than the
town has secrets, and Danika can’t throw a tarot card without
hitting a potential suspect.
With
the clock ticking, Danika must prove Elsie’s innocence, suffer
through the horrors of retail, and maybe even find a place where she
truly belongs.
Do
you enjoy clean cozy mysteries with a slice of romance and a dash of
paranormal?
Then
buy your copy now or read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited
subscription!
Character
Fun Facts!
Name: Danika Dreary
Supernatural powers:
Has the power to tell when someone is lying.
Looks: Pink hair, blue eyes, peachy skin tone, height 5’5, and slender body.
Birthday/age: June 13th / 33
years old (Gemini).
Favorite color: Pink.
Personality: Outgoing, nosey,
and a romantic at heart.
Favorites: Danika loves tacos,
reading spy novels, and doing tarot card readings.
Favorite book: Immortal Eclipse
Pet: Black cat named Sassy
Fashion Style: She loves dressing
casual chic: T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers.
Favorite activity: Watching old movies
with her Grandma Elise.
Pet Peeve: If anyone annoys
her, she confronts them, which gets her into trouble.
Favorite food: Tacos
~ ~ ~
It
was my honor to be your guest today. Thank you so much for allowing me to chat
up my new series. I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed this post. Now go feed
your mind with a book. Preferably one of mine. :-D
~ ~ ~
What are you
currently reading?
Let me know in the comments!
Multi-Genre
Author of Bewitching Mysteries, Unconventional Heroines & Swoony
Romances!
Sherry
Soule lives in Northern California with her family and two spoiled
rescue cats. She writes cozy paranormal mysteries, supernatural
mysteries, paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and sci-fi romance.
Many of her books have been on the Amazon bestseller lists and
nominated as top picks in the "Best Paranormal Romance"
categories on numerous review sites.
$10
Amazon
With Neighbors Like These by Linda Lovely
With Neighbors Like These
by Linda Lovely
July 12 - August 6, 2021 Tour
Synopsis:
MANAGING AN HOA IS MURDER…
He championed shooting deer inside the HOA’s nature sanctuary. Now his corpse is posed curbside, cradling a trophy deer head. The theatrical murder panics residents, and Ted Welch asks Kylee Kane, retired Coast Guard investigator, to help his HOA management firm calm fears. Kylee agrees. Her own mother is getting death threats over her crusade to protect the deer.
HOA=DOA TERROR REIGNS…
When a belligerent owner in another HOA is murdered, terror reigns. The Sheriff’s Department blames Ted for letting HOA feuds spiral into homicide. Kylee discovers links between the victims and suspects a recently-pardoned general is next. Authorities and the arrogant general dismiss her warning. Can she foil the third act in the crafty killer’s death-as-theater game or will she be the next corpse on display?
Praise for With Neighbors Like These:
"Linda Lovely delivers another twisty mystery with the perfect mix of wry humor and quirky characters. Anyone looking for a fun, fast page-turner, here it is!"
--Tami Hoag, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“HOA communities seem deceptively safe, but the mix of gossip and politics in rule-bound groups can be a fertile breeding ground for murder. For the gutsy Kylee Kane, a fact-finding gig in South Carolina’s Lowcountry turns increasingly complex and dangerous. With Neighbors Like These offers a distinctive setting, a tenacious female sleuth and captivating suspense.”
--Katherine Ramsland, bestselling author of How to Catch a Killer
"Low Country murder, intrigue, and even a little romance abound in With Neighbors Like These. Kylee Kane is a welcome addition to the genre, and author Linda Lovely knows how to stir the pot with crackling dialogue and a tidy little mystery. Highly recommended!"
--Richard Helms, Derringer and Thriller Awards winning author of Brittle Karma
Book Details:
Genre:Traditional Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: July 13th 2021
Number of Pages: 326
ISBN: 9781953789457
Series: HOA Mystery Series, Book 1
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
ONE
Kylee Kane
Friday, September 25, 6:30 p.m.
“Mom, are we eating at the kitchen table?”
Silence.
Not again.
I look outside. Mom’s standing by the mailbox, tugging on the blue stocking cap that keeps her nearly-bald head warm.
Crap. I said I’d get the mail. She’s a stubborn old cuss. While her skin now looks like wrinkle-mapped parchment, those cagey blue eyes still flash.
Mom stops midway to the house to read something. A postcard? She looks up. Her expression is one I rarely see. Fear? Distress? Definitely bad news.
Ted’s Mustang pulls into the drive, and Mom stuffs whatever worried her into a pocket. Ted jumps out, and Mom’s thin arms embrace him.
Thirty years ago, Ted was my kid brother’s pimpled, bratty best friend, a snot-nosed pest. Last year, when we met up again in the Lowcountry, I couldn’t believe it. These days he could model for GQ. A lot happens when decades pass between sightings.
I open the front door. Mom’s slightly out of breath as Ted helps her up the stairs. While her cancer’s in retreat, chemo has taken a toll.
Ted glances my way and grins.
“Hi, Kylee. See you’re still having trouble getting your mother to behave. Bet you long for those Coast Guard days when you could give orders and know they’d be obeyed.”
“Yep, some days I’m sorry I retired,” I answer.
Mom waves her hand like she’s shooing flies. “Let’s talk about something interesting. Ted, what do you hear from your son?”
“Grant’s great, sends lots of love. Says your care package made life worth living last week. Freshman year’s tough at the Citadel.”
At six-feet, Ted towers over my five-foot-two mother. Though he’s forty-seven, three years my junior, only a hint of silver threads his thick black hair. His hazel eyes seem to change color with his mood or maybe it’s just the light. Tonight, they’re green.
Ted looks worried as he studies Mom. He was eight when his own mother died. After that Mom included him in all our family activities. He loves Mom as much as I do.
During our kitchen table dinner, he regales us with tales of HOA intrigue to lift Mom’s spirits. Since his management company has more than a dozen homeowner associations as clients, his supply of stories seems endless.
“Once upon a time, there were three neighbors,” he begins. “RulesALot is convinced his neighbor, DoggyDo, is harboring three mutts, one more than the two-pet-per-household limit. Since he can’t see over his hedge to prove it, RulesALot launches a spy drone. A pilot he’s not. His drone crashes in ToplessTina’s backyard, who’s suing him as a Peeping Tom. Of course, there’s only one question on every male owner’s mind: Did the drone snap photos of Tina’s tatas before it nosedived?”
Ted’s eyebrows wiggle up and down, and Mom laughs. “Your HOA stories are certainly entertaining.”
“Believe me, the stories are a lot funnier if you’re not expected to wade into the middle of the skirmishes. Never dreamed HOAs would be tougher to manage than U.S. embassies on hostile soil.”
Mom fiddles with her napkin. “Speaking of neighborhood feuds, I have a confession. I figured you’d be scolding me by now, Ted, since you manage our HOA …”
Ted and I look at each other. Uh oh.
“What did you do?” Ted asks.
“I told the moron Hullis Island directors I’ll sue if they don’t let us vote on what happens to our deer. Emailed copies to all 1,123 owners.”
I reach across the table and squeeze Mom’s hand. Though I agree with her, she needs to focus on regaining strength, not leading a crusade. “Oh, Mom, kicking over a hornets’ nest isn’t part of your cancer recovery regimen.”
Mom’s eyes narrow. “Hey, everyone else bitched and nothing happened. Figured a lawsuit threat might make their little sphincters tighten, and they’d pay attention.”
Mom switches to a fake, shaky geezer voice. “I’m a little old lady, their nightmare plaintiff. Who’s going to go off on some sick, elderly lady?”
Ted’s eyebrows lift. “Exactly what did your email say?”
“Told ’em their plan to shoot our almost-tame deer with no vote on who, what, when, or how was plain wrong. Hullis Island is a nature sanctuary. They can’t unilaterally declare an open hunting season without an island vote to change our covenants.”
Ted shakes his head. “Myrt, I told the board the same thing, though a bit more diplomatically. The directors sided with Cliff, the board president, and his expert, some lawyer drinking buddy, who found a no-vote loophole after they’d tipped a few.”
He shrugs. “Welch HOA Management offers advice, but we’re hired help. Clients call the shots.”
“What loophole?” I butt in. “Don’t the covenants require a vote on any change to the island’s status as a nature sanctuary?”
Ted nods. “Cliff’s citing a provision that allows killing protected animals if they pose a threat to human life.”
I roll my eyes. “What? They say zombie deer are preparing to ambush humans? That exception allows trapping rabid raccoons or aggressive alligators, not shooting starving deer.”
“I cornered Barb Darrin, a director I thought had sense,” Mom says. “Her justification? Deer carry ticks, a health hazard, and they can crash into golf carts.”
Mom sighs. “Everyone agrees the herd’s out of control. Doesn’t give these arrogant SOBs the right to sanction a Wild West killing spree. Sure as shoot, some bozo will mistake a human or a big dog for a deer and fire away. You won’t be able to throw a rock without hitting some guy in camo with a high-powered rifle.”
Ted taps his spoon against his coffee mug. “Myrt, what aren’t you telling us?”
“Well…” She shrugs. “Seems one wannabe deer killer has no qualms about threatening old ladies.” She pulls the crumpled card from the pocket of her baggy sweater. “Found this love note in my mailbox.”
Good grief. That’s what she stuffed in her pocket.
Ted snatches what looks like some movie-maker’s idea of a ransom note. Black-and-white newsprint cut and pasted on a postcard.
“What a nice closing line.” Ted reads, “‘It’s time us hunters declare open season on diseased deer and busybody bitches like Myrtle Kane.’” He turns the card over to look at the front. “Did this come in an envelope?”
“No, just lying in the box.”
“Mom! This is dangerous. Either I’m moving back in with you or you’re coming to live with me.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffs. “It’s pure bluster. Took a year to convince you I’m healthy enough to live alone. Anyway, I get seasick just thinking about sleeping on your boat. No-sir-ee, you can’t dynamite me out of this house.”
Ted raises his palm in a hold-it gesture. “Myrt, do you think Dan Finley pasted this up?”
She shakes her head. “While I’m convinced he’s our Grass Slayer, it’s not his MO to cut up newsprint and issue threats. More his style to use that big commercial sprayer of his to ruin the Quaids’ lawn tonight.”
I frown. “The Quaids who live cattycorner? What does Finley have against them?”
“They’re one of the couples leading the ‘Save Bambi’ drive.”
“But why would Finley do something tonight?”
“The Quaids are in Savannah for their son’s wedding,” Mom answers.
Ted sets down his mug. “You may be right about Finley seizing the opportunity.”
Mom chimes in. “The deer have cost him big bucks. The poor starving creatures devour plants like I eat chocolates. Plants he’s guaranteed. His nursery and landscaping business is hurting. He blames folks like the Quaids, who put out buckets of corn to keep the deer alive.”
“Last week, herbicide messages were left on the lawns of two other deer lovers who were out of town,” Ted adds. “Dead yellow grass shows up quite nicely against a field of green Bermuda blades.”
“What kind of messages?” I ask.
Mom shrugs. “One lawn read, ‘Up yours!’ He was more artistic on the other lawn, drew a fist with an extended middle finger.”
I laugh in spite of my worries that Finley might be Mom’s new enemy.
Mom purses her lips. “Sure, it sounds like juvenile hijinks, but the anger’s palpable. Folks who golfed or played bridge together no longer speak. That’s why I’m adamant we need a vote. Then, win or lose, everyone has a say, and we can move on. It’s called democracy.”
“Speaking of democracy, I propose a kitchen vote,” Ted says. “All in favor of Kylee and me staking out the Quaids’ yard tonight raise your hands. That overgrown lot across the street offers a view of their place. Maybe we can catch Dan Finley at work.”
While I’m skeptical a one-night stakeout will succeed, that vacant lot also offers a perfect view of Mom’s mailbox. And I’m all for hanging around to catch anyone delivering hate mail.
Ted and I raise our hands. Mom harrumphs.
“Just what will you do if Dan Finley does drop by?” she asks.
“Video him doing the evil deed.” Ted smiles. “My new phone takes excellent photos in low light.”
Mom grumbles, but won’t argue with our kitchen table vote, a Kane family tradition.
“Just when do you intend to sneak off in the woods?”
Ted glances at his watch. “Say an hour? I doubt Finley would chance a drive-by while folks are still drifting home from dinner at the club.”
“Good. I’ll change into some old clothes and sneakers I left here before I was evicted.”
Ted looks ready for a Southern Living picture shoot in his tan chinos, button-down shirt, and polished loafers. “You sacrificing your HOA meeting duds for this outing?”
His hazel eyes twinkle. “Nope,” Ted answers. “I was a Boy Scout. Your dad, our scoutmaster, taught us well. I have running clothes in the trunk.”
***
Excerpt from With Neighbors Like These by Linda Lovely. Copyright 2021 by Linda Lovely. Reproduced with permission from Linda Lovely. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
A journalism major in college, Linda Lovely has spent most of her career working in PR and advertising—an early introduction to penning fiction. With Neighbors Like These is Lovely’s ninth mystery/suspense novel. Whether she’s writing cozy mysteries, historical suspense or contemporary thrillers, her novels share one common element—smart, independent heroines. Humor and romance also sneak into every manuscript. Her work has earned nominations for a number of prestigious awards, ranging from RWA’s Golden Heart for Romantic Suspense to Killer Nashville’s Silver Falchion for Best Cozy Mystery. A long-time member of Sisters in Crime and former chapter president, Lovely also belongs to International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For many years, she helped organize the Writers’ Police Academy. She lives on a lake in Upstate South Carolina with her husband, and enjoys swimming, tennis, gardening, long walks, and, of course, reading.
Catch Up With Our Author:
www.LindaLovely.com
Goodreads
BookBub: @LindaLovely
Twitter: @LovelyAuthor
Facebook: @LindaLovelyAuthor
Follow Linda's Instagram # - #LindaLovely
Tour Participants:
Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!
Giveaway:
This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Linda Lovely. There will be 1 winner of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card (U.S. ONLY). The giveaway runs July 12 through August 8, 2021. Void where prohibited.
Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours
The Girl From Silent Lake by Leslie Wolfe
The
Girl From Silent Lake
Detective
Kay Sharp Book 1
by
Leslie Wolfe
Genre:
Mystery, Thriller
“Wow!!!!
It simply took my breath away so much that I finished this book in
one go! Literally took my breath away! I simply couldn’t put the
book down. Unputdownable.” Tropical
Girl Reads Books,
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Her daughter, with emerald eyes and the
sweetest smile, is everything to her. Her whole world. “Mommy,”
the little girl says, touching her mother’s face with trembling
fingers before she’s torn away. “Don’t cry.” Will she ever
see her again?
When
single mother Alison
Nolan sets
off with her six-year-old daughter, Hazel,
she can’t wait to spend precious time with her girl. A vacation in
Silent Lake, where snow-topped mountains are surrounded by the colors
of fall, is just what they need. But hours later, Alison and Hazel
vanish into thin air.
Detective
Kay Sharp rushes
to the scene. The only evidence that they were ever there is an
abandoned rental car with a suitcase in the back, gummy bears in the
open glove compartment and a teddy bear on the floor.
Kay’s
mind spins. A week before, the body of another woman from out of town
was found wrapped in a blanket, her hair braided and tied with
feathers. Instinct tells her that the cases are connected––and it
won’t be long until more innocent lives are lost.
As
Kay leads a frenzied search, time is against her, but she vows that
Alison and little Hazel will be found alive. She works around the
clock, even though the small town is up in arms, saying she’s
asking too many questions. Then she uncovers a vital clue – a
photograph of the blanket that the first victim was buried in.
Just
when Kay thinks she’s found the missing piece, she realises she’s
being watched. Is she getting too close, or is her own past catching
up with her?
With
a little girl’s life on the line, Kay will stop at nothing. But
will it be enough to get inside the mind of the most twisted killer
she has ever encountered, or will another blameless child be
taken?
A
totally gripping and utterly pulse-pounding crime thriller series for
readers who love Lisa Regan, Robert Dugoni and Kendra Elliot. This
twist-packed page-turner gives “unputdownable” a whole new
meaning!
**Only
.99 cents!!**
Leslie
Wolfe is a bestselling author whose novels break the mold of
traditional thrillers. She creates unforgettable, brilliant, strong
women heroes who deliver fast-paced, satisfying suspense, backed up
by extensive background research in technology and psychology.
Leslie
released the first novel, Executive,
in October 2011. It was very well received, including inquiries from
Hollywood. Since then, Leslie published numerous novels and enjoyed
growing success and recognition in the marketplace. Among Leslie’s
most notable works, The
Watson Girl
(2017) was recognized for offering a unique insight into the mind of
a serial killer and a rarely seen first person account of his
actions, in a dramatic and intense procedural thriller.
A
complete list of Leslie’s titles is available at
https://lesliewolfe.com/books/. Leslie
enjoys engaging with readers every day and would love to hear from
you.
$50
Amazon
Key West Dead by Mark Nolan
Mystery-thriller and romantic suspense
Date Published: 03-31-2018
A beach wedding, with a hidden explosive device waiting to murder the newlyweds.
A kidnapped teenaged girl, strapped with an IED vest that turns her into a suicide bomber.
A former Marine and his girlfriend, along with their trained K-9, who volunteer to hunt for the bomb-maker.
There is trouble in paradise at Margaritaville Resort, where Jake and Sarah try moving in and living together for the first time to see how it goes. Suddenly they have far more than just their progressing relationship on the line. Now their very lives are at stake.
When a murderer begins threatening his friends, Jake vows to hunt him down and stop his crime spree. He and his former war dog, Cody, are soon following the twisted trail of an elusive bomb-maker whose explosive devices are wreaking havoc among the Florida Keys residents and tourists.
The killer is not amused by their interference in his plans, and he soon adds Jake, Sarah, and Cody to his list of targets.
With the islands under constant attack and everybody a suspect, the chase is on in a race against time, as the clock keeps ticking down toward a final heart-stopping confrontation that will bring the trio of Jake, Sarah and Cody face-to-face with death.
Will Cody's trained nose be able to hunt down the criminal in time, so Jake can stop his bombing spree before he detonates "the big one?" And will Jake and Sarah's relationship survive their life-threatening ordeal so they can sail away together to sunny islands? Read Key West Dead to find out what happens next.
About the Author
Mark Nolan is the Amazon Bestselling Author of the Jake Wolfe Series. Subscribe to his reader newsletter at marknolan.com for updates, specials, giveaways, and news.
Contact Links
Purchase Link
Woman in Shadow by Carrie Stuart Parks
Woman in Shadow
by Carrie Stuart Parks
July 12-23, 2021 Tour
Synopsis:
Carrie Stuart Parks combines her expertise as a forensic artist with her ability to craft a gripping story in this page-turning web of light and shadow.
A woman off the grid.
Darby Graham thinks she's on a much-needed vacation in remote Idaho to relax. But before she even arrives at the ranch, an earthquake strikes—her first clue that something is amiss. Then when a cabin on the edge of town is engulfed in flames and problems at the ranch escalate, Darby finds herself immersed in a chilling mystery.
A town on fire.
A serial arsonist sends taunting letters to the press after each fire. As a forensic linguist, this is Darby’s area of expertise . . . but the scars it’s caused her also the reason she’s trying to escape from her life.
A growing darkness.
As the shadows continue to move in, the pieces of the town around her come into sharper focus. Can she trust the one man who sees her clearly?
Praise for Woman in Shadow:
“Unique, witty, and hilarious, Carrie's voice shines throughout Woman in Shadow. The perfect mix of intrigue, mystery and danger, this is most definitely a book for my keeper shelf.”
—Dani Pettrey, bestselling author of the Coastal Guardians series
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery/Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: July 13th 2021
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 0785239847 (ISBN13: 9780785239840)
Series: Woman in Shadow is not a part of a series.
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
Chapter 1
Targhee Falls, Idaho
“Why are those dogs barking?” I pointed across the wooden picnic table toward two obviously upset canines yelping nearby.
A man staring at a clipboard didn’t look up. “They’re dogs. That’s what they do. Are you Darby Graham?”
“Yes.”
The man checked something on his clipboard. “Good. You’re all here.” He had to speak up to be heard over the commotion.
Before I could ask about the dogs again, he turned and strolled toward the nearby general store.
Although the man seemed unmoved by the dogs’ distress, the other people seated around me on Adirondack chairs or at picnic tables had stopped speaking to each other and were staring. The dogs—a black Lab cross with hound-length ears, and a huge Great Dane mix—both had their tails tucked between their legs and were howling.
The picnic table trembled.
I lifted my hands off the rough pine surface but could still feel the movement under my body. A flock of birds burst from the treetops. Pinecones dropped to the ground from the towering ponderosas.
Earthquake.
I was seated near the general store, just below a plate-glass window. The glass rippled, then rattled.
Heart thudding, I dove under the table. The ground rolled under me like ocean waves. A low rumbling was followed by car alarms going off from the parking lot on the other side of the store.
The black Lab flew under the table and landed in my lap. I wrapped my arms around the quivering dog, feeling the prominent bones of her spine and rib cage. “It’s okay there, girl. You’re safe. Your big buddy isn’t so scared—”
The second quaking dog joined us, his large body pressing against my back.
The earthquake ended.
“All over.” I reached around and scratched the Dane’s chest, feeling more bones. Didn’t anyone ever feed these dogs?
Both dogs seemed content to stay put, but the weight of the Lab—even though she was too thin—was still more than my leg was used to and it was rapidly going to sleep. “Come on, sweet girl, time to get up,” I whispered.
Both dogs took the hint.
On the other hand, here under the table seemed a nice place to stay. Tucked into the shadows, I didn’t need to worry about anyone staring at me. I had room to stretch out and could smell the cut grass. I’d be prepared should another earthquake come. And my assignment was to maintain a low profile. Sitting on the ground under a table seemed to be as low profile as I could get.
Two legs appeared next to me. “Miss Graham?”
Flapperdoodle. Mr. Clipboard found me.
I crawled between the bench and table, sliding onto the seat, then glanced around. Several other people had taken similar action. Only Clipboard had noticed my reluctance to leave my hiding place.
One by one, the car alarms stopped. The slight breeze stirred the fragrance of fallen pine needles.
Mr. Clipboard stared at me for a moment, then turned toward the others. He was holding a number of fabric bags imprinted with Mule Shoe Ranch. “Don’t be worried, folks. The town of Targhee Falls is less than fifteen miles from Yellowstone. The national park routinely has between one and three thousand quakes a year—”
“Excuse me, but I’ve heard most of those quakes aren’t noticeable,” a gray-haired woman in a denim shirt said.
“Obviously some are.” The man gave her a rueful half smile and started handing out the bags after checking the attached name tags. “I’m Sam, owner of the general store over there.” He nodded toward the building featuring a two-story false front and wooden sidewalk. The peeling sign said Sam’s Mercantile. “I provide Mule Shoe with transportation, supplies, and assistance during team-building exercises. Inside these bags you’ll find a great deal of information about your stay at the ranch. The owner, Roy Zaring, wanted you to have these while you’re waiting for your transportation—”
“When will that be?” asked a handsome teen with flawless olive skin and a thick lock of black hair. “I’m not getting any cell service here.” He held up his phone. An impeccably dressed man and woman sitting at the same table gave each other sideways glances.
Sam finished handing out the bags, turned, and looked at the youth. “Those your folks?” His gaze flickered to the two people sitting with the young man.
“Yeah.”
“And I’m guessing your mom? Dad? Both? Told you they were here to take a team-building—”
“Watercolor workshop.”
“A five-day art class in the wilds of Idaho, right?”
“Yeeeaah.”
“Son, the Mule Shoe Dude Ranch is a primitive facility. No Wi-Fi. No cell reception. No television, radio . . . no electricity. You’ll have a cabin with a fireplace, a composting toilet, and a lantern at night.”
The color drained from the young man’s face. “What?” he whispered.
“That reminds me,” Sam said. “I’ll collect your cell phones and will keep them here and charged for when you return.”
I reached into my purse, took out my phone, and placed it on the table for Sam to collect. Whose brilliant idea was it to send me on assignment to a primitive facility when they know I need my computer and electricity? And five days with all these strangers? I wouldn’t even need to unpack.
“Don’t worry.” An attractive older woman sitting on a wooden Adirondack chair grinned at the boy. “There’s plenty of hot water for showers, courtesy of the natural geothermal environment. The water’s gravity fed and the food is world-class.” She looked around at all of us. “I’ve had an interest in the Mule Shoe and was here last summer, although I have to admit, I prefer to visit this time of year. Late September is perfect. You all are going to love it.”
The young man’s lips compressed into a thin line, and he seemed loath to let go of his cell. Sam kept tugging the phone until the youth relinquished it. “But what is there to do?” he asked no one in particular.
“Most of us are here for the art lessons.” Denim Shirt reached into her bag, pulled out a piece of paper, and held it up. “Listen.” She read from it. “‘You’ll find trail rides, fishing, canoeing, gold panning, mineral collecting, archery, photography, hiking, campfires, swimming—’”
“That’s what I mean.” The young man ran his hand through his hair. “There’s nothing to do.”
I tugged out the same brochure. Welcome, honored guests. We look forward to serving you during your stay with us. Your experiences here will be unforgettable for all the right reasons! You should bring to Mule Shoe your mindset for success.
Yeah, right. I’d like to set my mind on getting in, getting done, and getting home. “Sam, you mentioned transportation . . .”
“Horse and wagon.”
I was afraid of that. “Do you have a regular timetable?”
This time Sam actually focused on me. “No. The horse and wagon are available on an as-needed basis, mostly to transport new groups and supplies.”
From bad to worse. I was stuck. Now would be a good time to find a bathroom. Riding a bumpy, horse-drawn wagon would be uncomfortable enough without a full bladder. Besides, if I left now, no one would notice my slight limp. I normally wanted to be invisible, to disappear into a crowd. When Scott Thomas, my counselor, told me not to stand out, to blend in, he didn’t have to say it twice. Your final assignment before leaving us here in Clan Firinn is to check out Mule Shoe Ranch. We’ve heard rumblings that something’s not right. You’ll be registered as a guest. I’ll tell you more once you get there.
I was irritated at being sent out like this with no idea of what was expected. I now know why. Had I known I wouldn’t be able to use my computer programs or the internet, I would have put my foot down. I was fortunate to have a good memory for words.
I’d heard through the Clan Firinn grapevine that those getting ready to leave—“graduate” as they called it—would have a project that would test their progress toward wholeness. I figured they’d find out soon enough that I wasn’t ready to leave.
I rose, picked up my purse, and made my way to the general store. A cowbell jangled as I entered. “‘I got a fever,’” I muttered. “‘And the only prescription is more cowbell.’” The line made me smile. Why worry about earthquakes, lack of electricity, and the inability to do my work when the world needed more cowbell?
“What?” A young, freckle-faced woman with a smear of dirt on her nose stopped replacing items on the shelf.
“Iconic Saturday Night Live line—more cowbell?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” The interior had old oak floors, a tin ceiling, and a long counter with a glass display case. The sun through the window spotlighted twirling dust motes. Various cans still littered the floor, courtesy of the earthquake.
“Just let me know if ya need something.”
“Powder room?”
“Huh?”
“WC?”
“I think we’re sold out.”
“John? Head? Loo? Restroom?”
“Toilet?” She nodded to her right.
Fortunately, the primitive conditions did not include the store bathroom. Returning to the store, I picked up a can of soup that had rolled near me. “Do you know anything about those two dogs?” I handed her the can.
“Why are ya asking?” The woman placed it on the shelf.
“They just seem thin, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well.” She adjusted the display. “Sam’s been feeding ’em, but that’s gonna stop.”
My neck tingled. “I don’t understand.” I gave her a steady gaze.
She paused her work and looked around. We were alone in the store, but she dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “He’s just waitin’ for all of you to leave to the ranch.”
The tingling grew to an itch. My years of training as a forensic linguist kicked in, even though I was rusty. I grew very still and waited, listening for more clues in her language.
She gave up straightening the cans. “It’s like this: The dogs were owned by an old lady. I bet she was, like, at least forty.”
“Positively ancient. One foot in the grave.” I gave her a slight smile.
“Right. Her name was Shadow Woman. That’s what everyone called her. Well, that’s the nice name anyway. She was, like, a hermit, but a pretty good artist.” She jerked her thumb at a drawing on the wall behind the cash register.
Were owned, was. Past tense. I widened my smile to encourage her. “Why did everyone call her Shadow Woman?”
The clerk gnawed on a hangnail for a moment. “I guess ’cause she was weird, ya know, like she lived in the shadows. Creepy. Always showed up here at the store at dusk or when it was dark. Sam said she could sneak right up next to you in the shadows and you’d never see her. And her face was weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Like, really weird.”
“Ah, that clarifies it. Where did she come from?”
“Sam said she ran away from a group home near Smelterville.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Right, you know? No one wanted her. Anyway, she owned Holly—that’s the Lab mix—and Maverick, the Anna-toolian sheepdog.”
“Anatolian? From Anatolia in Asia Minor?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Of course. I thought the big dog was half Great Dane, half mastiff.”
“Nope. Sam looked it up. Anna-whatevers are super-expensive livestock guard dogs from Turkey or France, I forget which.”
“They are such similar countries,” I murmured.
“Right. So anyway, Sam was surprised that Shadow Woman had one.”
Sam looked it up. Looking for value? Surprised that Shadow Woman had one. Not just a hermit but poor? Broke? “I see.” I leaned slightly against the shelving unit. “You mentioned Shadow . . .”
“Right. Um . . . so Shadow Woman came to town like once a month with her mule, like I said, always after sunset, and bought stuff, like Spam. She’d usually pay her bill about every other month. The dogs always came with her. Six months ago, you know, she stopped coming.”
“Let me guess. She owed Sam a lot of money.”
“Right. Boy-howdy was he steamed about it. Then he, you know, got a check and note from the old woman to pay her bill, but the check bounced higher than a buckin’ bronco.”
“Did anyone follow up, call the police?”
“Not right away ’cause the dogs moved in, first Holly, then Maverick. So, you know, Sam started to feed them. And . . . I think someone changed his mind on what to do with the dogs.”
Cluster of you knows. Sensitive topic. I kept my gaze on her and nodded again.
She glanced down and plucked a piece of lint from her sleeve. “Sam always said he’d get his pound of flesh from her, whatever that means.”
“I’m sure it originated in Turkey or France.”
“Right. Foreign-like. Um . . . Sam finally got close enough to Maverick to see he’d been spayed.”
“Neutered?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” A neutered dog was of zero value, and Sam stopped feeding them. I made an effort to unclench my hands. “How have the dogs survived?”
“You know, folks around town feel sorry for them . . .”
The cowbell jangled.
The clerk straightened and glanced in that direction. Her cheeks flamed and her tongue flickered out to moisten her lips.
I turned.
A sheriff’s deputy charged to the bathroom, disappeared for a few moments, then reappeared and sauntered toward us, replacing fallen items on the shelves. His ordinary brown hair was the only average thing about him. He was otherwise a walking modern-day Adonis, his face chiseled by a master carver. He finally looked up and smiled at the clerk, exposing more teeth than the Osmond family, and seemed to enjoy her reaction to his arrival.
My hand automatically reached to fluff my hair. I stopped and squared my oversized glasses instead.
He looked at me, his eyes widening. “Hello there. I’m Bram White.”
“I’m—”
“Leaving,” the clerk said. “Goin’ to Mule Shoe. She’s a guest.”
“Darby Graham.” I glanced at his holstered pistol, then out the window at the two dogs lying under a tree. Check bounced. Sam’s been feeding ’em, but that’s gonna stop. Pound of flesh.
Deputy Bram glanced at his watch.
My neck was crawling with reasons to scratch it.
“Can I get you a Coke or somethin’?” she asked me. “It shouldn’t be long.” The clerk moved toward an ancient cooler. “I’d bet the wagon got slowed down by the earthquake.”
The two dogs began barking.
“See? I told ya. Betcha that’s the wagon now.” The clerk moved toward the front of the store, brushing past Bram. “Excuse me,” she said. At the window, she glanced out, then looked at the officer. “Yep. The wagon’s here.” Without taking her eyes from Bram, she said to me, “You can go now.”
Sam stuck his head in the door. “Miss Graham? Time to leave.” He spotted Bram and gave the man a quick nod.
I gave in and scratched my neck. This was none of my business. No need to get involved. No reason to draw attention to myself. Low profile. Right. I straightened. “I think I’ll wait here. Catch the next wagon.” The words came out without my thinking, but they seemed right.
Sam moved into the store. “I’m sorry, Miss Graham, there won’t be a next wagon. It’s quite a distance to the ranch and it’s getting late. You’ll need to leave now.” He wiped his hands on his slacks, glanced at the clerk, then at the deputy.
The itch was now a full-scale conviction. “Your clerk here—”
“Julia?” Sam glared at the clerk.
“Was telling me about Shadow Woman. And her dogs.”
Bram folded his arms.
Sam opened the door behind him and waved for me to exit. “Miss Graham, I really see that as none of your business.”
Go now. Run. You have nothing to offer. Well . . . almost nothing. I slowly walked over to the counter. “I know Shadow Woman’s check bounced. How much money did she owe you? And how much to cover all the dog food?” I opened my purse.
“How many times have I warned you to keep your piehole shut!” Sam said to Julia.
“I didn’t say nothin’!” Julia crossed her arms. “She figured it out on her own.”
Sam closed the door and approached me, both hands held out as if to show goodwill. “I don’t know what it is that you figured out, Miss Graham, but—”
“Please don’t try lying to me, Sam.” I pulled out my checkbook. “You figured the Anatolian dog would pay Shadow Woman’s bill, but when you saw he was neutered, he had no more value to you. The minute I leave, you’re going to have Deputy White here shoot both dogs. Your pound of flesh.” I stared into his eyes. “I intend to stop you.”
***
Excerpt from Woman in Shadow by Carrie Stuart Parks. Copyright 2021 by Carrie Stuart Parks. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Carrie Stuart Parks is a Christy, multiple Carol, and Inspy Award–winning author. She was a 2019 finalist in the Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence in mainstream mystery/suspense and has won numerous awards for her fine art as well. An internationally known forensic artist, she travels with her husband, Rick, across the US and Canada teaching courses in forensic art to law-enforcement professionals. The author/illustrator of numerous books on drawing and painting, Carrie continues to create dramatic watercolors from her studio in the mountains of Idaho.
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