“They don’t open until nine on the weekends,” Cici said.
Mrs. Sanchez’s smile became girlish. “Knowing the owner helps.”
Cici’s microphone must have picked up Mrs. Sanchez’s words because people shifted, muttering at the thought of early morning cake.
Cici resisted the urge to snort.
Sam and Lucinda Sanchez blind-sided her with a wedding. A wedding. Something most people planned for months, possibly years.
As she looked around the space, at all the expectant faces, she felt a burst of happiness and contentment wash over her. And Sam and Mrs. Sanchez pulled it off in a few hours because they knew—as Cici knew—that time was precious. Perfection didn’t matter near as much as the thought and effort.
Are you seeing this, Aci?
Instead of the faint brush of a breeze across her neck, an image of her sister formed in her mind. Aci’s hands were clasped under her chin, her mouth smiling wider than Cici had ever seen it, her eyes alight with joy and love. For Cici and Sam.
Cici had a feeling she wouldn’t see her sister again—not as corporeally as now, at least. But that connection they’d always shared, deep within their minds, hadn’t…well, it wasn’t as open as it had been when Aci was alive, nor was it severed as it had been when Aci was murdered.
It was…different. Separate, maybe even ephemeral, but real. A connection that not even death had been able to sunder.
“I love you, Aci,” Cici murmured. “And I want you to find peace. Please.”
Sam offered out his hand and Cici placed hers in it, not bothering to look directly at where she expected her twin to be standing. Cici wouldn’t see her, and the lack would hurt.
Instead, Cici focused on knowing life might not be easy or even beautiful, but it was rich and full of surprises. Sam squeezed her fingers lightly, smiling a slight, smug smile that irritated and drew her all at once. She didn’t need anyone to tell her she was deeply blessed with the chance to live out the rest of her life with him.
Contents
A Revelation of Death
Dedication
1. Cici
2. Cici
3. Sam
4. Sam
5. Cici
6. Cici
7. Sam
8. Cici
9. Cici
10. Cici
11. Sam
12. Sam
13. Sam
14. Cici
15. Cici
16. Sam
17. Sam
18. Cici
19. Cici
20. Sam
21. Cici
22. Sam
23. Sam
24. Sam
25. Cici
26. Sam
27. Sam
28. Cici
29. Cici
30. Cici
31. Cici
32. Cici
33. Cici
34. Sam
35. Cici
36. Sam
37. Cici
38. Sam
39. Cici
40. Cici
41. Sam
42. Sam
43. Sam
44. Sam
45. Cici
46. Cici
47. Sam
48. Cici
49. Cici
50. Cici
51. Sam
52. Sam
53. Sam
54. Sam
55. Cici
56. Cici
57. Sam
58. Cici
59. Sam
Epilogue
Thank You!
Sneak Peek
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by J. J. Cagney
Thank You!
Dear Readers,
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Sneak Peek
I’ve started a new series, and I wanted you to be the first to meet my newest sleuth, Ash O’Malley. This came together at the last minute, so print versions do not have this chapter—this is a digital reader exclusive! Enjoy.
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Chapter 1
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The snap and the sudden squishy terrain caused Ash to freeze, her breath caught at the unpleasant sensation that turned her knee more watery than the sluggish river snaking through the thick mangroves that lined this part of the narrow path.
A faint plop of a sinewy body hitting the muddy water pulled her from her daze. That splash was followed by more—a familiarity that caused Ash’s body to break out in goosebumps. Cottonmouths released their draped bodies from their branches, undulating and releasing their sinewy flesh to drop with a faint hiss into the sluggish river below. They’d offered Ash her only warning. If she came closer to their tree and possible nest, they wouldn’t hesitate to strike.
Ash’s breathing increased and black dots popped at the edges of her vision as she forced her muscles to stay still-even as they quaked with fright and the desire to flee. If the snakes were angry enough, they’d give chase—just like any predator. That was one of the many reasons cottonmouths scared her. Badly.
She had been chased by one as a child, and it nearly snapped her calf. She’d managed to dart around a mangrove that time and the meaty thunk when the snake hit the obstacle still made her stomach squeeze time. Those tiny white mouths surrounded by sharp, yellowish fangs and black, flat eyes that spoke of pain and fear and death still haunted her dreams even twenty years later.
Ash hated the swamp. It smelled of decay and mold and lingering pain she worked hard to forget. She shifted her weight a little, trying to regain her composure and her vision. If she’d been smarter, thought her actions through a bit more, she wouldn’t have come. Dr. Cockcroft hadn’t told her she needed to—but she’d left him a message, telling him she’d meet him here, hoping it would show him how eager she was for the position.
She should have insisted on rescheduling this meeting to the office—as the original plan. Impatience made her stupid, take unnecessary risks.
She waited for the telltale swish of a snake slithering through the tall grass. Nothing moved. If Ash was lucky, the snakes may have retreated to the far bank. And if she was really lucky, she’d managed to step on a gator carcass. Louisiana was home to more than two million of the reptiles—the largest population in the states. Something about the lack of give told her the kill was fresh, which meant if it wasn’t an alligator, one of the predators might return for its kill soon.
Cicadas hummed and a mosquito bit into the side of her neck. A soft splash to her left caused a shiver of dread to ripple over her suddenly-chilled skin. The gator?
Her breathing escalated as she squinted, peering at the marshy ground beneath the thigh-high grasses that made up much of the millions of acres between the Atchafalaya and Mississippi Rivers known as the Barataria-Terrebonne National Estuary. Unable to penetrate the thick green jungle through the low, early-morning light that pushed past the mangroves’ sheltering leaves, Ash took a deep, painful breath and looked straight—at her boot.
Around the sides of the thick brown leather, she made out a fleshy chin and thinning, brown hair threaded with gray covered in a thin layer of dirt and debris. She back-pedaled along the narrow strip of the path shed just traipsed down, losing her balance as she registered her boot print on the poor man’s now-crushed his nose.
She made a noise that sounded somewhere between a gag and a scream as she clutched her chest. This could not be happening. Not today.
Then, his image clicked in her mind. She recognized the man, and her midsection rolled, pitched, and somersaulted over itse
lf.
She rose from her rump and crab-crawled, her hands plopping into her own footfalls, clearly visible next to several other tracks in the boggy soil.
The man…the obviously dead man was Dr. Cockcroft, director of the Audubon Society. And now she’d stepped on her dead almost boss.
“Nope, this cannot be happening,” she whispered.
She closed her eyes and pinched herself. A soft breeze brushed her overheated skin and the faint sounds of sluggish water siphoned through the tangled thoughts careening through Ash’s head, bringing a much-needed stillness. She forced herself to look at the scene in front of her.
Dr. Cockcroft lay half-buried in a slight ditch just off the pathway. Besides his trodden face—she winced and suppressed the urge to gag—he was bruised and bloody. Like he’d fallen from a great height. And his scalp, mangled…
Ash stumbled even as her gaze searched out more potential cottonmouths. Seeing none, she gave in to her desire and fell forward to retch up the gumbo she’d eaten that morning—the gumbo she’d saved so she’d have a good meal to start her day.
She kicked her feet into the dirt, struggling for purchase before she shot back the way she’d come, not unlike a sprinter. She fumbled for her phone, dirt and grit coating her hip as she struggled to pull it from her pants pocket.
Her fingers shook but she managed to press 9-1-1. Her breath broke in a sob as the operator answered.
“A—a b-body. There’s a dead body.”
She slid down the mangrove’s trunk, heedless of its short, painful barbs digging through her blouse and into her skin. Her butt hit the boggy soil and harder roots and she winced, unable to take her eyes off the man.
Ash forced herself to listen to the dispatcher’s questions. She ignored the faint hum of gathering insects as they closed in around her sweat-drenched form. She closed her burning, too-dry eyes, unwilling to watch the bugs land on Dr. Cockcroft’s exposed face. Ash understood the circle of life but that didn’t mean she wanted to witness it this close up.
She gave her location, head bent, forehead to her knees, phone mashed to her ear. Her fingertips tingled and her body felt heavy, biological responses to the scare. She stared at a leaf, a perfect specimen, and wondered idly if she was going into shock.
Before she could process further, she heard the crunch of boots over the dried foliage, then a stifled gasp. Even as she raised her head, a scream rent the air, sending birds cawing and crashing upward.
“What was that?” the dispatcher asked, tone sharp with concern.
Ash turned to face the woman, her face white and her eyes too wide. Her mouth still gawped but she’d stopped screaming. “My second would-be boss showed up. The first one’s the dead guy,” Ash said. “This was supposed to be a job interview.”
“You’re at a job interview?” The dispatcher clucked.
“Clearly not now,” Ash muttered.
“You got that right. A patrol car’s on its way.”
“Aw, hell. She’s about to puke,” Ash said, her tone almost conversational—or maybe it was detached. Like she was watching it on television.
“Don’t let her contaminate the scene,” the dispatcher said.
Ash dropped her phone and bolted upright, moving toward Dr. Marie Delmonico with cat-quick reflexes she hadn’t known she possessed. The older woman heaved, hand pressed to her mouth. A good thing, too, because Ash was able to direct her toward the same bush Ash had used. She wrinkled her nose even as she gathered her potential boss’s hair back. Dr. Delmonico emptied the contents of her breakfast on top of Ash’s mess.
“Thanks,” Dr. Delmerico muttered.
Ash stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides. Dr. Delmerico wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her khaki work shirt. The small green logo for the Audubon society rippled, and Ash had to force herself to look away.
“Sorry,” Dr. Delmerico muttered. She straightened to her full height but swayed slightly. Ash noted how she kept her back to Dr. Cockcroft’s partially-buried body.
“I already made use of the same bush,” she said. “Scared a bald eagle that had just caught a speckled trout. The only one happy about the situation was the trout.” Ash frowned. “At least I think it was happy. I…”
She assumed it flopped back into the water. She didn’t see the fish and she really didn’t want to go back to the sick-coated bush again. Ever again.
Dr. Delmerico chuckled before she straightened, her dark eyes narrowing. She shoved her silver hair off her clammy forehead as she eyed the road. “Is that the police?”
Ash tilted her head at the faint sound of sirens. “Should be,” she replied
Dr. Delmerico straightened her spine and glanced over at the pale, fleshy face of her former boss and long-time mentor. Dirt and debris dribbled off the rounded cheeks and weak chin. She gulped and averted her gaze.
“That is…ugh…is it…Cockcroft?” she asked, her voice wavering.
“I thought so,” Ash said. She closed her eyes as a violent shiver overtook her.
“How’d you find him?” she asked.
“I…” Ash pressed her trembling palms against her stomach. “I stepped on him.”
Dr. Delmerico’s knees dipped before she managed to stagger upright. “And you could still tell me about the bald eagle and speckled trout?”
Ash felt a blush race up her neck and burn her cheeks. “I…ah…well, I’m trying to process… I was under the impression neither species was in abundance in the area,” she blurted out.
Crises were not Ash’s strong suit. In fact, she tended to over-compensate for them. Some might even say overreact.
Dr. Delmerico’s gaze felt assessing, and for a brief instant, Ash’s heart seemed to topple out of her chest before she managed another breath and the world snapped back into focus. This was definitely not the first impression she'd planned to make. But, then again, this was New Orleans where things were always lagniappe--a little extra.
“I wish I’d met a gator,” she muttered.
Dr. Delmerico squeezed her shoulder, a look of pained understanding flashing there before she focused on the officers hurrying toward them.
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And thank you for reading!
Acknowledgments
Writing can be a solitary experience, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an entire team of people who make these books possible. I do, and I’m so deeply thankful for them all!
Chris, your unending support keeps me going. You help me in so many ways, and I cannot ever thank you enough for believing in my—or for the amazing graphics you provide.
To Corrine Jones, who shared her police and criminal justice expertise.
Charity, you are the best PA! You’re always available when I mess up my newsletter or forget to update my website, and you ALWAYS know the answer. How do you always know? It’s magic, and I’m thankful you share it with me.
To Kiki, Colleen and Kristina (and the entire The Next Step PR team), I’ve so enjoyed working with you and getting to know you. Thank you for holding me accountable when I don’t want to do more promotion and social media—you’ve made a huge difference in a short amount of time, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To my Team, who have stuck with me and encourage me and read all my ARCs as well as whatever quirky thought I decide to share on Facebook. Thank you. I appreciate each of you. Go, Team Alexa!!!
To Emma Rider, this cover is gorgeous. Thank you for sharing so much of your beautiful self in it.
About the Author
J. J. Cagney is the mystery/thriller pen name of USA Today bestselling author Alexa Padgett. Her debut mystery, A Pilgrimage of Death, was named to Kirkus Reviews' 100 Best Books of 2018 and Goodreads Best Mysteries of 2010s.
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Cagney holds a bachelor’s in international marketing and spent part of her twenties as the marketing director for an elite sports management firm. And, yes, she did her requi
site stint with a dotcom back in the that early 2000s, first as a marketing coordinator and then as a content manager. She’s penned work for a variety of websites and magazines, and she worked as a literary agent for Irene Webb Literary.
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Cagney lives in northern New Mexico with her husband, children, about a million fish, and their Great Pyrenees, Ash. Kirkus Reviews called Cagney's latest mystery, An Artifact of Death, "An exhilarating entry in a thoroughly enjoyable series."
Also by J. J. Cagney
Identical Death (A FREE Prequel Novella)
A Pilgrimage to Death
A Heritage of Death
An Artifact of Death
A Revelation of Death
Facing the Past
A Revelation of Death Page 25