Here’s your Monday Snippet!
FLIGHT FROM DEATH — Book 1 of the Fly By Night Series (a spinoff of Otherworld)Release date: July 7th, 2015. Available for Preorder! If you want an autographed copy, preorder from Seattle Mystery Bookshop. Preorders help authors out SO much!
You can also preorder Autumn Thorns, book one of the Whisper Hollow Series, now!
She held my gaze for a moment, then nodded and stood up. “Mr. Strand is free to go in and start work on rebuilding his bed-and-breakfast, but he can’t open till the damage has been fixed and the inspector signs off on it.” She paused then, looking like she wanted to say something else. I wasn’t the only one who noticed it.
Tonya set a cup of coffee in front of Paris. “What is it?”
Paris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know there are entities in that house. I felt them when I was there. I felt them around the skeleton. I know what happened—officially—at the battery. I also know there’s something in that place because the last time I was there, it scared the hell out of me. I can’t speak as a cop . . . ignore my badge for now . . . but if you’re trying to take care of whatever it is, please be careful. Whatever is going on in this town, it’s dangerous.”
I looked at Ralph, then at Tonya and Chai. It was better for everybody if none of this ever chanced creeping into government hands of any sort. And while I trusted Paris, there was always the chance she’d feel obligated to report it and we’d be in trouble.
“We simply can’t verify that. I hope you understand—we can’t talk about it. I’m not about to say you’re wrong, though.”
I really didn’t know if I should be the one taking over the official spiel; Ralph had been with Alex a lot longer. But Ralph was far better with a keyboard than he was with verbal communication. It occurred to me that we needed to clarify the matter on who spoke for the company, once Alex was awake to make a decision.
Paris considered what I said, then nodded and stood up and put her hat back on, adjusting it over her hair. “I understand. If you need me—unofficially—call me here.”
She handed me a business card. It was her personal one, with her cell number on it. Apparently, Paris was more than just a cop—she also made and sold quilts. As we showed her to the door, I tucked her card in my pocket.