by Lena Gregory
Series: Bay Island Psychic Mystery, #3
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Berkley
Publisher: Berkley
Release Date: February 6, 2018
A haunting vision reveals a ghostly grave in the latest Bay Island Psychic Mystery from the author of Occult and Battery.
Whoever said that dead men tell no tales has never met Cass Donnovan...
Cass has always relied on her abilities to guide her, but after communications with a ghost land her in the middle of a murder investigation, she has to wonder if her gifts are really more a curse.
Cass knows she is meant to help track down the killer--much to the chagrin of local law enforcement--when the apparition leads her to a dead body on the beach near her psychic shop, Mystical Musings. But the police are not the only ones who wish Cass would stick to reading palms. Someone is trying to scare her off, and it will take all her powers of premonition to catch the killer before Cass herself becomes the next victim...
It was past time to get this guy out of her shop. It didn’t take any kind of psychic powers to feel the negative energy pouring off him in waves. “Okay, then. Why don’t we get started?” She lit a white candle and pushed it to the side of the table, then set the paper and pencils in front of her.
Color readings tended to be calming, and her clients usually left with a sense of peace. Hopefully, it would soothe what she perceived as an undercurrent of violence in the big man. Maybe that’s why Beast took such an instant dislike to him. Couldn’t dogs sense stuff like that?
Without looking, she grabbed a handful of pencils from the basket and placed them beside her. She rolled her hand back and forth over them, coaxing them into a straight line.
“If your daughter is still alive, and you have no idea where she could be, I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to do for you.” Holding her breath, she waited for another outburst. When none came, she lifted a pencil and pressed it to the paper. Black. Hmmm . . .
She’d never started a reading with the color black before, and she had to wonder if it was her own opinion of the man guiding her choice of color. She always tried to let her subconscious—or whatever—guide her hand, but this time she couldn’t be sure. Perhaps she was transferring her intense dislike and lack of trust for him to the reading. She shook off the concern and tried to focus.
Black was a color of mystery. While it didn’t always have a negative connotation—it could also represent power and strength, which this man obviously possessed—more often than not, it did.
She began to scribble, just a random blotch of color toward the top of the page. Black could also symbolize death. Was that the message she was supposed to pass on? That his daughter had died? No way could she tell him that, even if she was certain of it, which she wasn’t. Actually, she was getting surprisingly few impressions from this man, other than an overwhelming sense of anger.
She continued to scribble, the rhythmic scratch, scratch, scratch of the pencil against the paper the only sound as her blob of black began to take on a definite shape. She frowned. That had never happened before. Her color readings usually left her with a random palette of colors that could tell her something about her client. This was different, surreal.
A faceless silhouette began to form . . . Blackness lifted off the page, surrounded her, embraced her in shadow. The shape of a woman emerged from the darkness, the same woman who’d haunted her every nightmare for over a week now, robbing her of the sleep she so desperately needed.
Color readings tended to be calming, and her clients usually left with a sense of peace. Hopefully, it would soothe what she perceived as an undercurrent of violence in the big man. Maybe that’s why Beast took such an instant dislike to him. Couldn’t dogs sense stuff like that?
Without looking, she grabbed a handful of pencils from the basket and placed them beside her. She rolled her hand back and forth over them, coaxing them into a straight line.
“If your daughter is still alive, and you have no idea where she could be, I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to do for you.” Holding her breath, she waited for another outburst. When none came, she lifted a pencil and pressed it to the paper. Black. Hmmm . . .
She’d never started a reading with the color black before, and she had to wonder if it was her own opinion of the man guiding her choice of color. She always tried to let her subconscious—or whatever—guide her hand, but this time she couldn’t be sure. Perhaps she was transferring her intense dislike and lack of trust for him to the reading. She shook off the concern and tried to focus.
Black was a color of mystery. While it didn’t always have a negative connotation—it could also represent power and strength, which this man obviously possessed—more often than not, it did.
She began to scribble, just a random blotch of color toward the top of the page. Black could also symbolize death. Was that the message she was supposed to pass on? That his daughter had died? No way could she tell him that, even if she was certain of it, which she wasn’t. Actually, she was getting surprisingly few impressions from this man, other than an overwhelming sense of anger.
She continued to scribble, the rhythmic scratch, scratch, scratch of the pencil against the paper the only sound as her blob of black began to take on a definite shape. She frowned. That had never happened before. Her color readings usually left her with a random palette of colors that could tell her something about her client. This was different, surreal.
A faceless silhouette began to form . . . Blackness lifted off the page, surrounded her, embraced her in shadow. The shape of a woman emerged from the darkness, the same woman who’d haunted her every nightmare for over a week now, robbing her of the sleep she so desperately needed.
Book 1: Death at First Sight
Book 2: Occult and Battery
When she was growing up, she spent many lazy afternoons on the beach, in the yard, anywhere she could find to curl up with a good book. She loves reading as much now as she did then, but she now enjoys the added pleasure of creating her own stories.
Email: lenagregoryauthor@gmail.com
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