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February 13 is the day the Scavenger Hunt features a Q and A contest for The Widow's Walk.
Plus, from 2/16-20, check in here or at TRR for a chance to win an additional e book copy of The Widow's Walk
If you'd like a preview of the prequel, Breakwater Beach, which is coming out in the Spring of 2016, subscribe to my newsletter. In addition to bonus content and advance notice of the cover reveal celebration, I'll send you a PDF of Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts which features a short story version.
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Mike and Liz Keeny are newlyweds, new parents, and the proprietors of the Barrett Inn, an 1875 Victorian on Cape Cod, which just happens to be haunted. By their own ghosts. The Inn had become an annex of Purgatory, putting Mike, Liz, and their infant son in danger. Selling the historic seaside bed and breakfast was the only answer, one that Liz and her own tortured specter refused to consider. Were they doomed to follow the same path that led to disaster in their previous lives? Was getting out, getting away, enough?
Look, for now, we’ll just stay where we are–together. If Liz and Mike are united, then Jared and Elisabeth aren’t going to be able to get in between us.” He brushed the tears off her cheeks.
She stared at him intently, fear, maybe desperation in her eyes. “We can only talk to each other about this. Others might use any information against us.”
“Who would do that, Liz?’
Her demeanor hardened. She sat up, raised her chin. “My son. Your daughter. Sandra.”
“You’re paranoid. The kids have no inkling about ghosts. All Sandra has are theories. She doesn’t know about your incident–or my illness. And I’m not going to tell her.” Guilt twanged in his gut. Sandra had come up with all the ghostly interpretations on her own, right?
Liz jumped up. “She knows about my injury. Maybe not how it happened, but when Mae went in there to get my things, she figured out it was for me. She reads minds, or manipulates people into blabbing what they know.”
Mike lowered his voice to a whisper. “It doesn’t take much for Mae to spill information. I think you’re giving Sandra too much credit.” Yet, she did ask him about the ghosts as soon as he sat down.
“You can joke all you want, Mike, but this is serious. We can’t let anyone else in.”
“I won’t say a word about anything ghostly to anyone. As long as things stay under control.”
Liz studied him.
Mike squirmed. “I think I’m going to take a nap.” He settled back on the sofa.
She tucked the blanket around him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll go help Mae with dinner.”
She didn’t believe him. He didn’t trust her. This was never going to work.
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Coming Spring 2016
Liz Levine is convinced her recently deceased husband is engineering the sequence of events that propels her into a new life. But it’s sea captain Edward Barrett, the husband that died over a century ago, who has returned to complete their unfinished business. Edward’s lingering presence complicates all her plans and jeopardizes a new relationship that reawakens her passion for life and love. What are Captain Barrett’s plans for his wife, and for the man who is the new object of her affections?
Liz opened the lid of a large trunk affixed with shipping labels dated from 1865 to 1875. Inside, neatly folded, were women’s clothes, hats, and shoes. She examined a night chemise that resembled a long slip with lace trim. “This is English linen, Irish lace though."
Mae didn’t answer. Liz peeled away layers of yellowed paper. Silk and velvet dresses with coordinating hats and high button shoes were stored in their original boxes. Undergarments, corsets, garters, and hosiery were wrapped in linen bags. The aroma of lavender lingered in a sachet tucked in the corner.
"You won’t be findin’ this clothin’ in the Sea Captain’s Thrift Shop,” Mae hung the dresses in the closet.
They arranged the intimate garments in the antique dresser. Liz left the shoes and hats in the trunk and pushed it against the wall.
“How could no one have noticed these for so many years?” said Liz. “It’s too damp up here to leave them out. I'll donate them to the Brewster Historical Society and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.”
“Keep this nightgown, Miss Lizzy.” Mae hung it on a hanger over the closet door. “The sachet kept it fresh and the wrinkles will come out in time. A real lady lived here. The best of everything.”
Liz watched the girls fluffing pillows and turning down covers on the four-poster bed. Another moment of déjà vu diffused through the room.