by Tegan Maher
"They were considering bringing Cass back in. This was never meant to be a permanent exile and, some felt it had gone on long enough. Believe it or not, Cass wasn't always bitter. He had quite a few friends up there." he said. "But there was a certain faction that was all for leaving him here to rot. They considered him an embarrassment to their kind. One angel in particular was adamant. The rest were on the fence, but she'd whipped them into a frenzy of righteous indignation."
I raised my brow at the term.
"Well, that's what it was," he said. "In the most literal form possible. But my guess is that Cass figured if he took her out, they'd scatter and he'd be back in."
I thought it over and bounced my head left and right. "To be fair, you can't really blame them. The guy was a drunken tool."
A small smile flitted across Eva's face.
"And that's what you were talking to him about?" I asked. "Why you were here to begin with?"
Dimitri brought us over a pitcher of water and three glasses, and I poured us all one just to give my hands something to do.
"Yeah," Colin said. "I had two options for him that had been decided on by the majority. If he was willing to stop drinking, he could have his old position back. If not, Di—the angel dead set against his return—insisted he be stripped of his wings and left here, mortal."
I whistled. "Wow. That was some decision he had to make."
I remembered Bob mentioning the threat he'd heard Colin throw at Cass. "So that's what you meant when you said he was making you do something you didn't want to do?"
Colin nodded, picking at his coaster. "Yeah. I mean, I didn't like the guy. But I didn't want to do that to him, either. And it would have been so easy. Angels aren't susceptible to human addictions—or at least not drugs and alcohol—so it's not like he couldn't quit drinking. He just wasn't willing to."
"And this chick who was all for knocking him clear off the ladder once and for all—you think that's who he'd planned to kill?"
"Yeah, though how he was planning to do it is beyond me."
"Oh," Eva answered, "I can explain that. She was coming here to vacation with Ari next week."
Wow, so she'd have died just like he did. Justice, in a roundabout way.
"That's who you think killed him, then?"
She gave a little shrug. "I guess we'll never know, now, will we? You can bet there will be an investigation, but angels play by much different rules than we do."
My mind was whirring, trying to think of questions that would tie up all the loose ends. Tempe jumped into my lap.
"Who was the man in front of the chocolate shop?" she asked. "And why were you rushing toward us like that?"
Her black eye was still visible around the edges of her aviators, and I felt a twinge of guilt. I reminded myself she'd been following me, then rushed toward me like I was under attack.
Speaking of, another question popped to the front of my head.
"Who lured me there? Who was the fake Michael?"
"Yeah," she said, cringing, “I'm afraid that's another piece of information that's above my pay grade. To be honest, I only have speculation and personal suspicions about that at this point anyway. I mean, I know who he was, but not why he was there, for sure."
I scrubbed my hand over my face. "No offense, but for somebody here to give me information, you're not telling me much."
"I know, and I'm sorry. But you'll have all the answers soon, I promise." She cast an unsure glance at Colin, who just shrugged.
"Maybe," she added, and I rolled my eyes.
"Well then," I said, pushing up from the table. "Now that everything is clear as mud, I have guests to attend to."
Angels, I thought as I walked away. That's what happened when you gave a bunch of spoiled brats power over the earth. I was glad I'd never have that much power.
But never say never, as I was to learn much, much later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WITH ALL OF THE ANGEL stuff settled, Dwight Nightingale had to eat a little crow and unfetter me. I thought he was going to have a stroke when I offered him a lollipop once I was loose. Some people just had no sense of humor.
The angels wouldn't tell me who the fake Michael was; only that he had meant to harm me for reasons known only to them. Nor would they tell me why Eva'd been following me, but they did say it was for my own safety. Stupid angels. But when I heard that, I felt uber bad about giving her the black eye.
Blake insisted I take the day off, and now that I knew what Colin had been hiding, I was okay with him.
"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you," he said as we walked along the beach.
"Nah, it's okay," I said, bending to pick up a shell. "I get it. I mean, I have famous people—or infamous ones—who come in here, and I maintain their privacy. Samuel L. Jackson could be staying here, and as much as I'd fangirl, I'd do it in private. You'd never know."
He cut his eyes sideways at me. "Is he here?"
I widened my eyes. It had long been a suspicion that nobody could be that badass without being magical, but I'd never met the man. Still, I owed Colin a little payback, and I pasted my best sorry—not sorry face on.
"Client-cabana girl confidentiality. I'm not at liberty to discuss our private guests."
"I'm here for as long as I want to be, you know. If he's here, I'll see him."
Raising a brow, I rubbed my chin and narrowed my eyes in speculation. "Will you, though?"
He gave me a little shove sideways.
"Let's go back to the tiki," I said. "I'm starving."
"Not yet." He bent down and picked up a smooth, flat piece of stone that had probably been part of a ship at some point centuries ago. Rubbing it between his fingers, he turned to the smooth-as-glass surface of the water and skipped it across.
"Ow!" a voice said from several yards out. I let my eyes roam the water until I saw Sylvia treading water and rubbing her forehead. "Why'd you do that?"
"Sorry!" Colin called. "I didn't see you there."
"Yeah, okay," she called back before she sank back beneath the surface. "But watch it from now on. You coulda put my eye out."
He glanced at me and I just shrugged. "Welcome to my world. Now," I said, “I'm tired of walking and I'm starving. I haven't eaten today because I've been too shaken up worrying about dying and stuff."
I turned back in the direction of the tiki and he took my hand. We walked in silence for a while, just enjoying the ocean breeze and the sound of the ocean. We were almost back to the tiki before I noticed about a kazillion balloons were waving in the breeze from all around the place.
I scrunched my brow in confusion. "What's going on?"
He gave me a know-it-all smile. "You'll see."
The wind shifted once we were past the water bar and the smell of burgers made my stomach growl. Colin kept his eyes straight ahead, so I started moving faster. I planned to use every ounce of my considerable charm to con a burger and a dog out of whoever was partying.
I stepped up onto the pool deck. A huge banner with congratulations scrawled across it in giant, colorful letters floated in the air at the end of the pool and smoke billowed from the big barbecue grill we kept there for special occasions and private parties.
Looking around, I realized I knew everybody there. Some were folks I worked with—Bob and Jolene and the kids, Dimitri, Elena—and others were regulars. Elsa and Tolthe, Cyri, Steph, Lila (who was looking less green), the selkies, and even Arariel and Eva.
"What's going on?" I asked Colin.
"Ask Blake," he said.
I glanced over, and sure enough, there was Blake. He looked down at my hand, which was still interlocked with Colin's, and a little flicker of sadness shadowed his eyes for a second.
Lucy was standing beside him, except she was holding hands with a linebacker-looking guy, who was smiling at me, too. I didn't have time to contemplate that, though.
With flair, Blake turned toward the congrats sign and poofed his hands. Two more smaller banners unroll
ed beneath it. One said Employee of the Year, and the other had my name on it.
Blake and Lucy stepped toward me and Tempe jumped into my arms.
"Destiny Maganti, I'd like you to meet Lucy Flanders, President of the Enchanted Coast Board of Directors, and her husband Stephen. Lucy, Stephen—Destiny."
The led me forward toward the banner, where there was a huge cake with Congratulations, Destiny sprawled across it.
Blake leaned down. "Red velvet on one half, marble on the other. Your two favorites."
I smiled at him, and realized I still loved him, but I didn't know if I could ever forgive him.
Ari stepped forward and produced a large envelope out of thin air, then stood beside me. "I asked if I could do the honors, since, you know, I witnessed your exemplary serving skills when you almost dumped an entire tray of drinks on the angel of war's wife."
I grinned at him. "I always say, if you're gonna do it, do it big!"
He squeezed my shoulder and pulled a microphone out of thin air. "Destiny Maganti, it's my honor to name you Enchanted Coast Employee of the Year. Your dedication, positive attitude, and spirit of teamwork combine to make you and employee others respect and admire. Thank you for doing your best to provide only the highest level of service to each and every guest who passes through here.”
He handed me the envelope and I tucked it under my arm.
"Open it, you little dope," he said out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes sparkling.
I did, and there was the plaque as I suspected, and I held it up to show to the crowd, who cheered me on. There were two smaller envelopes in there, too, so I pulled them out. One had a considerable bonus check, and the other held an invitation for me and a plus-one to the Angel's Ball, and annual event that was the paranormal equivalent of the Oscar's.
He grinned and hugged me. "Seriously, Des, thank you," he said in my ear.
"It's my pleasure, Ari, truly."
I stood looking out over my friends and glanced to my right at the two men who represented my past and maybe my future.
There was a fat check in my envelope, burgers on the grill, people I cared about surrounded me, and everybody was happy.
That, to me, was one of those perfect moments in time. As the sea breeze whispered across my neck and happiness filled the air, I realized there was nowhere else one earth I'd rather be.
<<<<>>>>
Thank You!
I know my style isn’t for everybody. Know that I appreciate your time and kind words via email and reviews. Also, if you’ve followed me through my different series, thanks for allowing me a little latitude when I take a few sentences here and there to introduce our people and explain references to happenings in other books for anybody who may be starting here instead of with Sweet Murder. I want everybody to enjoy each book, and that helps. If you’d take a minute to leave a review so others can decide whether this series is for them, I would be grateful.
Hopefully, we’ll meet up again in Book 2, The Surfboard Slaying! ’Til then, happy reading!
If you’d like to read the first chapter of Sweet Murder, book 1 in my Witches of Keyhole Lake series, I’ve attached it at the end.
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Other Books by Tegan Maher
Witches of Keyhole Lake Series
Book 1: Sweet Murder
Book 2: Murder to the Max
Book 4: Mayhem and Murder
Book 5: Murder and Marinade
Book 6: Hook, Line, and Murder
Book 7: Murder of the Month
Witches of Keyhole Lake Shorts
Bubble, Bubble, Here Comes Trouble
Witching for a Miracle
Moonshine Valentine
Cori Sloane Witchy Werewolf Mysteries
Howling for Revenge
Dead Man’s Hand
Enchanted Coast Magical Mystery Series
Deadly Daiquiri
Surfboard Slaying
About Tegan
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. When I'm not writing or reading, I'm racing motorcycles 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.
Sneak Peek at Sweet Murder
Witches of Keyhole Lake, Book 1
Chapter 1
U
sing the hem of my apron, I pulled the last batch of blueberry turnovers out of the oven and slid them onto the counter to cool. They were an even, golden brown, and a quick poke with a fork assured me the crust was light and flaky.
Perfect. The customers at Brew4U, my best friend and cousin Raeann's coffee shop, were going to eat them up. And that was good, because right now every few bucks mattered.
Speaking of money—I glanced at the clock on the microwave, and that cold, I’m-gonna-be-late feeling swept over me. As always, time had gotten away from me while I was baking; I only had about fifteen minutes to get to work. Panicked, I turned the oven off with a wave of my hand, then bolted into the laundry room and pulled my server's apron and work shirt out of the dryer. I changed into the tank top on my way through the living room, grabbed my purse, and bolted out the front door.
And nearly face-planted when I tripped over our miniature donkey, Max, who was napping at the bottom of the steps.
"Watch it, you big clod,” he snapped. “Maybe I shall kick you in the head the next time you’re napping." He yawned widely, taking most of the intimidation factor out of the threat.
"If I were sleeping at the bottom of the steps, I'd expect to get kicked in the head," I said over my shoulder as I recovered and headed toward Bessie, my faded blue, shabby-chic 1984 F-150. Yes, shabby-chic is code for "POS." Don't judge me; it's paid for.
And yes, the donkey talks, but we'll get to that a little later. Trust me—after you meet him, you'll be glad for the delay.
I slid into the truck, yelping and lifting my hips when the backs of my thighs hit the searing-hot cracked leather seat. I pushed my apron under my legs and settled back gingerly, then, with an encouraging pat to the dashboard, I cranked the key. Bessie coughed and wheezed a little, but surprised me yet again when she caught and roared to life. Another check in the win column for the day. I backed out of the yard and headed down the driveway to the main road, admiring the late-morning view.
Even with my window down, the temperature inside the truck was just this side of hellfire, so I reached across the seat and cranked the passenger window down, too. Midsummer in southern Georgia was brutal. The AC in the truck had gone out a few months back and, unfortunately, fixing it didn't even make the top twenty on the laundry list of priorities that demanded a chunk of my check.
Still, as I rumbled out of the yard and drove past the horses grazing in the pasture, I figured I didn’t have a
whole lot to complain about in the scheme of things. No matter how many times I traveled our mile-long driveway, I never got tired of it. Ancient oak trees draped with Spanish moss lined both sides, forming a canopy of leaves and limbs, and small patches of sunlight dappled the shaded road.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I entered the tunnel of shade and the interior of the truck finally dropped below the melting point of flesh.
Just as I turned onto the main road, I spotted a couple of deer out of the corner of my eye. When I tapped the brakes in case they decided to run out in front of me, the pedal felt spongy. Since my house sat on an overlook outside of town, much of my drive was a steady, winding descent; brakes weren't exactly optional, so I tested them again.
I was coming up on the first of several hairpin turns, so when the pedal went clear to the floor, so did my heart. Cold fingers of panic raced down my spine as I stomped on it again, then a third time, to no avail. The truck picked up speed, and as I bounced and rattled toward my demise over potholes that now felt like craters, I had only one thought: How on earth was Raeann going to finish raising my hellion of a little sister without strangling her or hexing her into a convent?
You heard right—I said "hex." We're witches, which you’d think would have come in handy right about then. You'd be right, except I was too freaked out—and busy trying not to die—to pull any magic together.
I managed to make it around the first curve, but there was another one a quarter-mile ahead. If I dropped off the road there, I would careen about three hundred yards down a steep slope and fly over a cliff into a granite quarry — assuming I didn't meet my maker by smashing headlong into a tree before then.
Adrenaline flooded my body, and I felt like I was wearing boxing gloves as I did my best to wrangle the truck into the turn. I was almost home free when the passenger-side tire dropped off the steep berm, blew with a tremendous bang, and jerked the truck off the road.