When Jack Robesaux is found lying dead on a Louisiana beach, psychic Marin Seurat must use her gift to prove it is murder and not suicide. Though Marin knows her dreams with their messages from the dead could help, she struggles with the idea of returning home and facing a troubled past--but a phone call informing her of Jack's murder and the return of the family curse gives Marin that final push. In a surprising turn of events, Marin discovers a mystery from long ago that somehow connects to recent deaths. With the help of cryptic messages delivered by ghosts, Marin races to solve the mystery of Saint Toulere.
Chapter1: Summer, 2011...
"The sweltering Louisiana heat steamed up from the ground and carried through the air, along with the salt and acrid stench coming from the gulf. It burned the nostrils and caused an ache from head to toe. It didn't matter where, a body felt it. However, this particular morning it carried more. The odor of blood and urine, mixed in with other smells all too familiar to Trent Robesaux. It violated his senses while he struggled to hold back the bitter taste gagging his throat. Swallowing hard, he concentrated on the words spoken by Sam Tomaso.
"Found him about three this morning. Somebody trolling the beach--searching with one of those metal detectors, I guess--come up on his body." The sheriff of LaForche parish wiped a handkerchief across the back of his neck.
"When will you be releasing him? I need to call Rochere's sometime today and make the funeral arrangements." Trent kept his eyes on the swelling ocean water, anywhere but below with the scene of Jack Robesaux, his head marinating in a bloody pool, and the homicide team gathering around him. A collage of images scrolled through his mind; he filtered out the happy ones to remind him of the father who raised him.
"No need to rush. I expect homicide and the coroner will be taking their time to figure it out." Sam Tomaso wadded the sweaty handkerchief and stuffed it into his back pocket. His boot pushed at a shell resting on the sand; back and forth, he moved it in mindless play.
Trent's eye caught the gesture, and he felt a flush of anger. "Why take their time? What's the point? You've got one dead fisherman, one who decided life didn't leave anything for him to do but put a bullet in his head. Pretty damn obvious, if you ask me."
With steps punctuated by his outburst, Trent hurried away before he'd say more or do something that might reserve him a place in jail. The oil spill took another victim; that seemed plain enough. No foul play here. And he refused to spend another minute thinking about what he could've done to stop it. "That's right. Just blame it on the damn oil spill." The bitter words released in a low rumble.
"Where you headed? In case I need to get in touch," Tomaso called after him.
"Fontaine's. I'm going to the Fontaine Bleu and get trashed," Trent shouted over his shoulder while he kept moving. Anywhere but here, he thought, the bitter, sour taste still lingering in his mouth."
About Kathryn Long
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Published May 14, 2013
by Mainly Murder Press.
Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Horror, Literature & Fiction.