by Tegan Maher
He pulled up a few minutes later and shut the bike off.
"Hey, Noelle."
"Hey, Hunter."
He seemed to be searching for the right words, looking everywhere but at me.
"I'm not going to say I understand all this, but I do know I like you. And I like Keyhole Lake. I'm going to stick around, and I'd like to get to know you better. I guess I'll figure out the rest as we go."
"Well, isn't that how most relationships go? At least you know straight out of the gate that you're getting a certain level of crazy with me. When it comes down to it, I'm just a regular girl. My gifts aren't like superpowers. Look how much good they did me when a couple of nutjobs tried to blow me up."
His eyes crinkled and he gave me the first genuine smile I'd seen from him since the night we rode the bikes.
"Fair point, though I think calling you a regular girl is a bit of a stretch. Now, just one more thing," he said as he climbed off the bike.
"What?"
He came so close I could smell that clean cologne that reminded me of the ocean, or maybe the woods after it rains. He looked into my eyes and my heart stuttered a little, then he laid his hand on the side of my face.
"This," he said, as he brushed his lips over mine.
It only lasted an instant before he stepped back and handed me my helmet, but wow—what an instant.
I strapped it on and swung my leg over the bike, then wrapped my arms around him and hoped like crazy there was another one of those in my near future.
Thank you!
Thank you for reading Sweet Murder. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews are the lifeblood of an indie author’s career, so if you would take just one more minute to share your opinion and insights, I would greatly appreciate it!
In case you’re wondering what’s next for Noelle and crew, here’s an unedited sneak peek at Murder to the Max, Book 2 in The Witches of Keyhole Lake Series. I hope to see you there.
Happy Reading,
Tegan
Sneak Peek of Murder to the Max
“That should do it.” Hunter pulled the last tie-down strap tight and climbed up on the trailer to give the motorcycle a firm shake. When it didn’t budge, he jumped down and double-checked the hitch.
I took one final, longing look at the log cabin we’d been enjoying for the last week. I closed my eyes and inhaled, relishing the last few minutes of peace and quiet before we headed back to Keyhole Lake.
“You know, it’s not like we can’t come back,” Hunter called. “We’re only an hour from home.”
I heaved a regretful sigh. “I know, but everything is just so … perfect. As much as I miss everyone, I hate to leave.”
“Well, at least everything will be back to normal—as normal as Keyhole Lake gets, anyway—when we get back.”
“I don’t know whether to be happy or depressed about that.” Our little burg in the middle of Georgia gave new meaning to “sleepy little town.” At least it did until recently.
He leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Ready to head back?”
I scrunched my nose. “Not really, but we don’t have much choice. At least not until one of us wins the lottery or finds a random bag full of hundred-dollar bills.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to keep my eyes open, but with our luck, it’ll be sitting beside a dead body.”
“Don’t even joke about that!” Hunter and I had met over the body of Hank Doolittle, the biggest crook in town, when he’d keeled over dead in his plate of barbecue, but that’s another story that, hopefully, you’ve already read.
Anyway, the hubbub from Hank’s murder had died down and all of the loose ends had been tied up. When it was all said and done, Hank Doolittle ended up doin’ way more good by dying than he ever did by livin.
After the murder, I’d gone on a four-day cruise with Hank’s widow, Anna Mae, my best friend Raeann, {fill in others names here}. Adelaide, my ghostly aunt, and Cheri Lynn, a recently dead exotic dancer (we don’t say ‘stripper’ because it hurts her feelings) had also tagged along.
Cheri had met a really nice, extremely attractive living-impaired man and had opted to stay for an extra week on the ship to get to know him better. The rest of us, however, had to get back to reality.
After a couple of weeks of living under the watchful eyes of the local gossip mill, Hunter and I had decided that we needed some time away from it all to focus on each other.
On a whim, we’d rented this cabin, loaded his motorcycle onto a trailer so that we could take advantage of the great back roads and scenery, and headed out without so much as a by-your-leave to anybody other than my family and his closest deputy.
I glanced at the cabin one more time before heaving my duffel bag onto my shoulder and heading for the truck. Hunter took it from me and tossed it into the bed, along with his bag and our riding gear.
He opened the driver’s side door and climbed in, leaving the door open. “I need you to stand behind the trailer and tell me if the lights are working, please.”
I walked around behind the truck and waited for him to hit the brakes. When he did, nothing happened, so he got out of the truck and came around to check the wiring. Just as he was kneeling down, an older, grizzled man wearing jeans and a blue Dickies work shirt appeared beside the trailer. Well, more accurately, the ghost of the man appeared.
My eyes about popped out of my head and my heart started to race. Hunter had accepted that I was a witch, but I’d been trying to ease him into it by keeping things as normal as possible around him. New relationships were hard enough without the additional burden of, oh, I don’t know … say, ghosts appearing randomly.
I checked to make sure Hunter’s back was still turned before I made a frantic throat-sawing gesture and mouthed the words, not now to the ghost. He just looked at me, then at Hunter, who was on one knee with his head under the truck checking the wiring.
The ghost turned to look at the trailer, wrinkling his forehead. “That tie strap ain’t gonna hold,” he said. I pinched my lips together and glared at the man. “What? It’s not. Look.” He pointed to the strap, but I was too busy trying to shoo him away to look where he was pointing.
“Did you say something, Noe?” Hunter’s voice was muffled as he was still fiddling with the wires.
“Uh … no?” I hadn’t said a word, which means that he shouldn’t have heard a word.
The ghost stepped closer to him and spoke a little louder, becoming more corporeal as he did. “She didn’t say anything; I did. I said your tie strap isn’t going to hold.”
Hunter pulled his head from under the truck but remained kneeling. He looked puzzled, and when his gaze drifted in the direction of the specter, he fell backward onto his butt and the color drained from his face. I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. Somehow, he could see him.
Just lovely; this is so not how I wanted to do this.
Hunter was still wrapping his head around the fact that magic existed, so we were letting him dip his toes into the pond before we took him to the middle and threw him overboard. We hadn’t exactly introduced him to the local ghost community. Or told him there was one.
“Noelle, do you see a man standing there?”
With a resigned sigh, I said, “Yes, Hunter. There’s a man standing there.”
“A transparent man?” he was on his feet gripping the tailgate so hard that his knuckles were white. I couldn’t tell if he was going to bolt or pass out.
I stepped to his side, watching him carefully. His eyes were glued to the man, but there was some color coming back into his cheeks. “He’s a ghost,” he announced. Well, when all the possible options are gone …
“Yes. He’s a ghost. Breathe.”
Hunter took three or four deep breaths and then nodded, though he was still a bit pale.
After a few awkward seconds, the ghost lost his patience. “What’s the matter with him?” He jabbed a thumb in Hunter’s direction. “Don’t tell m
e Numbnuts here is the only one in town who doesn’t know you’re a witch.” He put the word ‘witch’ in air quotes.
The rudeness snapped Hunter out of his daze. “Hey! Don’t call her a witch like that!”
“Oh, but you’re okay with Numbnuts?” The ghost rolled his eyes and Hunter opened his mouth to retort.
Ugh. I decided to step in before it got ugly. “OK, first, don’t call him Numbnuts. I assume that since you’re here, you need our help with something and being rude isn’t the way to get it. Let’s start with your name. You look familiar, but I can’t place you.”
“Max Wheeler.” He started to put his hand out to shake, but realized the futility of the gesture and withdrew his hand. Now I knew why he looked familiar; he owned the company that was building my pool and patio. Fabulous. Now my pool was never going to get done. Before the thought was even fully formed, I felt bad for being so selfish.
“OK, Max. Now I know who you are, and as far as I know, you were alive and kicking when we left town. It would seem that’s no longer the case. Is there some reason in particular that you popped in on the tail end of our vacation, or did you just happen to be floating by on your way to the great hereafter? Obviously, you know who I am. This is Hunter Woods. He’s the new sheriff of Keyhole Lake.”
“I know who he is. He’s the reason I’m here. Well, that and I didn’t expect him to be able to see me so I was trying to catch him when he was with you.”
Hunter finally found his voice. “Me? Why are you looking for me?”
Max flickered in and out for a few seconds, sort of like bad reception on a TV. When he stopped fizzling, he looked around as if he had no idea where he was.
His eyes roamed over the bike strapped down in the trailer. “That tie strap isn’t going to hold.”
Hunter looked at me, asking what to do. I tilted my head toward Max and he nodded.
“Why do you say that, Max?”
The ghost’s gaze bounced from the tie strap to Hunter and his brow furrowed. “How do you know my name?” His gaze strayed to the bike again. “It’s not going to hold because it’s about sliced clean through right there.” He pointed to a frayed spot on the tie down.
Hunter looked closer and whistled. “You’re right, man. I didn’t even see that. Thanks.” He loosened the tie strap and opened his toolbox to get another, almost as if there wasn’t a ghost standing right beside him. I have to hand it to him; he’s taken rolling with the punches to an art form.
I eased closer to the trailer, afraid that if I moved suddenly, our visitor would pop out of sight again before we figured out why he was there. Or that Hunter would suddenly realize what a nutjob he was dating, and leave like his hair was on fire. “Max, you said you were looking for Hunter. Can you remember why?”
Max looked at me for a few seconds, then the haze lifted from his eyes and he stopped flickering. “Of course I can remember why. I’m dead, not senile. I need Numbnuts here to go find my body. Otherwise, I’m going to be lying there until the cows come home.”
Hunter stopped fidgeting with the straps and snapped his gaze to him, incredulous. “Say what?”
Max rolled his eyes and scratched his whiskers as if he were gathering what little patience he had. He leaned closer to Hunter and spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Go. Find. My. Body. I’m speakin’ English.”
That irritated me. “There’s no need for snark. It’s not like this happens to him every day.”
He crossed his arms. “Well, for a sheriff, he seems a bit dense. My body’s at my shop. Some meathead bashed my skull in with a toilet tank lid.”
His eyes glazed over again and he drew his brows together, confused, then glanced at his watch. He muttered something about having to meet Darlin, then flickered out.
Well alrighty then. It looked like we had a body to find.
About Teegan
I was born and raised in the South and even hung my motorcycle helmet in Colorado for a few months. I've always had a touch of wanderlust and have never feared just packing up and going on new adventures, whether in real life or via the pages of a great book.
When I was a little girl, I didn't want to grow up to be a writer—I wanted to raise unicorns and be a superhero. When those gigs fell through, I chose the next best thing: creating my own magical lands filled with adventure, magic, humor, and romance.
I live in Florida with my two dogs and when I'm not writing or reading, I'm racing motorcycles with my taller, more handsome half, hanging out at the beach, or binge-watching anything magical on Netflix.
I'm eternally grateful for all the people who help make my life what is today - friends, readers, family. No woman is an island.
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