by Jessa Archer
It was almost as if someone had painted a giant arrow in the sky pointing toward Thistlewood. This Way to Ruth Townsend’s Second Act.
And so, I’d piled my things into the Jeep and headed back to the mountains. The only thing I’d really missed in Nashville, aside from decent cell phone coverage, was my daughter. A few months later, Cassie had decided to make the move as well.
Sherry was looking over at the table where Ed was chatting with readers. “In some ways, I think Ed was destined for this. He loved law enforcement, and he was a really good sheriff. Unlike that snake Blevins who replaced him. But Ed has always been a storyteller. When I was a little girl, I looked forward to the nights when he was home. Whatever book Mama or Daddy was reading to me, it didn’t matter. It got pushed aside. I liked the stories Ed made up for me so much better.”
I motioned toward the long line of people waiting to have their book signed and smiled. “Looks like you’re not the only one who likes his stories.”
She nodded, and then leaned forward, whispering across the table like she was sharing some deep secret. “I have to be honest, though. Ed really does have a gift for words, but his imagination can be a little dark sometimes. I prefer the stories he told me as a little girl. They usually had a princess and a dragon. Maybe even a unicorn. He’d always make them a little bit scary, but not so much that I’d have nightmares. His last book was too intense for me. So much death and murder. There’s enough of that in real life. I’d really rather read a nice romance, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A little romance in the mix is fine. But mysteries have always been more my thing.”
“And that’s why the two of you are perfect for each other.” Sherry’s eyes traveled behind me to the front door. “Speaking of mysteries, that woman looks like one of those femme fatales from Ed’s books, doesn’t she? All she needs is a trench coat and a pistol.”
I turned to look and saw a tall young woman with hair the color of a copper penny in the doorway. She was beautiful, as pale and thin as a runway model. The door closed behind her with a little hiss, blowing her long tresses aside to expose a long, graceful neck.
“She’s definitely not from here,” Sherry said.
I managed to fight back a chuckle, which was good since I’d probably have had to explain it. Wren and I often laughed about the Thistlewood hierarchy. There was from-here, which— depending entirely on who was doing the assessment—could mean anything from starting kindergarten in Thistlewood to having a pedigree that went back three generations. Everyone else was not-from-here. Wren and I had both fallen into that latter category, since we didn’t arrive in Thistlewood until our early teens. We’d both had a bit of a tough time due to our not-from-here status until Tanya Blackburn, who was sort of the queen bee of our class, took us under her wing. Wren’s situation had been worse than mine, truthfully, since Woodward County is about as undiverse as you can get.
Sherry’s eyes widened. “Ruth. She’s coming this way.”
I turned sideways in my chair just as the young woman came to a stop next to our table. She didn’t look at me, not at first, anyway. Her bright green eyes were locked on Sherry.
“Are you Sherry Hanson?”
Sherry nodded, giving the newcomer a confused smile. “Yes. I’m sorry. Have we met?”
“Actually, we haven’t met. I’m Mindy Tucker. Your niece.”
“My niece?” Sherry said with a nervous little laugh. “I’m sorry. There must be some mistake.”
The girl sighed. “I hate springing this on you so suddenly, but I thought it might be best to talk to you first. I’m afraid this will be a bit of a shock for your brother, and…I thought it might help if there was someone else with him when he and I speak for the first time. I considered sending a message, but…some things really do need to be handled in person, don’t you think?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you saying you’re Ed’s…daughter?” Even as my mind dismissed the words, my eyes searched her face for any resemblance to Ed. I couldn’t see any. Of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
Sherry looked a bit like she’d swallowed a lemon. Was she angry or embarrassed? “Ed doesn’t have a daughter.”
The smile vanished from Mindy’s face. “Apparently, that’s not true. My mother didn’t tell me until recently. I haven’t been able to screw up the courage to contact him, but we’re in town for a gig and I was walking by and I saw the poster.”
A gig? Did she mean a temp job? That made no sense. Much of Thistlewood’s economy is seasonal, dependent on tourism, and the current drought had cut deeply into the number of visitors. Businesses were laying people off early, not hiring new temps.
“It was sort of like…fate,” the girl continued. “Like this was meant to be our first meeting.”
I opened my mouth to point out that the launch party for Ed’s book would, in fact, be a very bad time for their first meeting. But I never got the words out. The front door banged open. All three of us jumped and turned toward the entrance.
Ed’s niece stood framed in the doorway. Her long blonde hair was a tangled mess, plastered to her face by sweat.
“Kate?” Sherry leaned forward. “Are you okay?”
The girl looked around wildly, clutching the doorway to keep her balance. Sherry stood up so quickly that her chair toppled to the ground, and she ran toward her daughter. I glanced over at the signing table and saw Ed excusing himself to the people in line as he pushed himself to his feet.
Sherry reached Kate within seconds, pulling her away from the open door and guiding her toward a chair. Kate moved like she was on autopilot, her eyes wide and vacant.
“Katie,” Sherry said, kneeling down next to the girl. “What’s wrong, honey? Talk to me.”
Kate blinked and looked around. She seemed a little startled, almost as if she was seeing her surroundings for the first time. Then she said something in a jagged whisper that I couldn’t make out, aside from the single word: Tessa.
Sherry couldn’t decipher it either. “What is it, baby? I can’t understand you. You’re scaring me.”
Ed touched my shoulder. “What happened?”
“Something with Tessa Martin,” Sherry said in a low voice.
Hearing Tessa’s name seemed to have cut through Kate’s fog. She looked up at Ed, and then back at her mom. “Tessa’s dead,” she said, choking back a sob. “She called it. Tessa called it, and it came and got her.”
✰ Order A SÉANCE IN FRANKLIN GOTHIC ✰
About the Author
Jessa Archer writes sweet, funny, warm-hearted cozy mysteries because she loves a good puzzle and can't stand the sight of blood. Her characters are witty, adventurous, and crafty in the nicest way. You'll find her sleuths hand lettering inspirational quotes, trying to lower golf handicaps, enjoying a scone at a favorite teashop, knitting a sweater, or showing off a dramatic side in local theater.
Jessa's done many things in her long career, including a stint as a journalist and practicing law. But her favorite job is spinning mysteries. She loves playing small town sleuth and transporting readers to a world where the scones are delicious, wine pairs with hand lettering, and justice always prevails.
If you want to know when Jessa's next book will be available, visit her website, www.jessaarcher.com where you can sign up for her newsletter.
www.jessaarcher.com
Copyright © 2019 Archer Mysteries
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or lo
cales is completely coincidental.
Cover Design: Amy Queau
Palatino for the Painter/Jessa Archer. — 1st ed.