by Tegan Maher
AFTER A FEW DAYS, I was good as new, and claustrophobic as all get-out. Hunter agreed we could go for a ride, but insisted that I ride with him. Since that beat staying in the house for so much as another hour, I agreed.
Half an hour before we were due to leave, Matt sauntered across the yard and pulled his bike out of the storage barn where we kept them.
"Hey," I hollered. "Hunter and I are going for a ride with Shelby and Cody in a few minutes. You oughta come with us."
He grinned. "I have every intention to, but I have to go pick up my date," he said as he pulled on his helmet and fired up the bike.
As he drove off, I played the guessing game with myself, even musing aloud to Max.
"Honestly, Noelle. You're as bad as those old hens at the Clip N Curl." He gave me a knowing donkey-grin.
I narrowed my eyes. "You know, don't you?"
He hmphed. "Of course I do. But don't bother asking. You'll find out soon enough.
Hunter's bike roared up the driveway and I fetched my helmet and jacket and met him on the porch. He looped his arms around me and gave me a kiss. "You scared me, you know that?"
I nodded, feeling content as I stood on my tiptoes for another one. "I know. But it's not like it was my fault."
He chuckled. "It never is, sweetheart. It never is. But seriously, what is it with you and people trying to blow you up? This is twice now."
I shrugged. "Lack of creativity?"
Laughing he pulled me in for a hug and I nestled my head into his shoulder. "I reckon so," he said.
The sound of more bikes rumbling up the driveway broke the morning quiet and I pulled away from him. Matt and Cody—both with passengers—pulled in front of the porch. Of course, I knew who was riding with Cody, but I turned to Matt, the curiosity nearly killing me.
A petite woman climbed off as he held the bike steady, but she had a smoked face shield on her helmet, so I couldn't see her face. When she pulled it off, I burst out laughing.
Anna Mae grinned back. "Hey sugar! Ready for a ride?"
I pulled her into a hug. I couldn't have chosen better for him myself.
"Absolutely—let's go!"
They insisted on keeping the ride fairly short in case I started feeling sick, but there was no way that was going to happen on such a beautiful day.
Gabi's name was cleared and she found her treasure, a murder was solved, one of my best friend's life-long wishes had come true, and two more of my best friends had found happiness with each other. And I, of course, was blessed to have them all in my life.
Once again, all was well in Keyhole Lake.
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Click here to read Murder and Marinade, Book 5 in the Keyhole Series.
I’m super excited to have a new witchy werewolf series coming out in April—keep reading for an unedited sneak peek!
Chapter 1 Howling for Revenge: An unedited sneak peek
Cori Sloane Witchy Werewolf Mystery Book 1
I jogged along the stream, reveling in that peaceful, early-morning stillness that only lasts until the rest of the world stirs. I picked up my pace a little as I followed the sun-dappled path around the tree line, enjoying the brush of the cool breeze along my skin as it dried the fine sheen of sweat from my body. The only sound beside the birdsong was my heart beating in tempo with the soft,steady thud of my sneakers against the asphalt.
I sucked in a lungful of air, inhaling the scents of the early morning. For now, the damp, earthy scent drifting from the stand of trees overshadowed the stench of humanity. Night-blooming jasmine sweetened the air, masking the lingering odors of fast-food wrappers and cheap perfumes. I slowed as I neared the end of the trail, then stopped, placing my hands on my knees as my heart rate slowed and my breathing returned to normal. As always, tendrils of regret wound through me at the thought of leaving the peace and getting back to the grind. I propped my foot against a picnic table and leaned into a stretch, feeling a little euphoric as I did so. The endorphins flooding my brain were more addictive than any drug, which is the main reason I run daily, rain or shine, either in this form or my other.
Now would probably be a good time to introduce myself. My name is Cordelia Delphine Sloane, but please, for the love of God, call me Cori. The only person on the planet who uses my full name is the woman who was hateful enough to give it to me to begin with: my mother.
You’ll meet her in a bit, but there’s no need for me to be mean to you right off the bat. Oh, and I should probably mention that I’m a werewolf. Well, technically I’m three-quarters werewolf and a quarter witch, but we’ll get to that in a bit, too.
Right now, the relevant 411 on me is that I’m the sheriff of our little berg - a small town called Castle’s Bluff. Don’t let the name fool you—we have neither a castle nor a bluff. We have a nice lake, though. Back in the early 1800s, a vampire by the name of Sean Castle won the property that the town sits on in a poker game by bluffing on a pair of deuces. He built the town, then had to move away when people began questioning how he managed to stay so young-looking. Coincidentally, he just moved back a year or so ago under the guise of being an descendent.
As I lifted my arm and grabbed my elbow to stretch my bicep, the faint sound of several voices caught my attention. I cocked my head; there were never that many people in the park this early. I turned toward the direction of the voices and my good mood was replaced with a sense of dread. A quarter of a mile or so away, on the road on the other side of the trees, red and blue lights flashed from several police cars. Uniformed bodies stepped with care through the brush and into the edge of the forested area that separated the road from the running trail.
Torn between irritation and a sense of duty, I heaved a sigh. Of course the tranquility was too good to last. I took one last longing look at the quiet spot behind me, then finished my stretch and headed toward the bustle of activity to see what was causing such a commotion.
I approached a yellow police line and looked around. The county’s meager police department was out in force: four of the five police cruisers surrounded the area, forming a loose circle around the scene. An ambulance sat along the edge of the road with its rear doors open and ready to go. The paramedics, on the other hand, slouched on the back bumper with their arms crossed, watching but not participating in the action.
The white coroner’s van was backed up on the same side of the road facing the opposite direction, which explained why the paramedics weren’t doing anything.
I lifted the police tape and stepped under it, nodding to a lanky deputy named Stan Lee. Yeah, I feel sorry for him, too. There was no need to flash my credentials; I was his boss. Well, that and we’d gone to grade school together.
I was nearly to the circle of cops and crime scene techs before I caught a glimpse of a delicate hand lying in the grass about ten feet from the side of the road, its glossy red fingernail polish gleaming in stark relief against the dull, gray skin of the fingers.
As I made my way closer to the scene, I saw that the hand was attached to the body of a woman that lay crumpled about ten feet from the edge of the road, her platinum hair covering her face.
Sam Cassidy, a seasoned deputy with forty-five years under his belt, waved me over. He used his body to shield me, which worked fairly well considering he was six-four and built like a tank.
I’d known him since I was a kid and even though I was now his boss, he still saw me as a little girl if things got real. Of course, until recently, “getting real” usually involved a drunk tourist getting handsy when I’d have to haul him out of the Hook, our local dive bar. Even with—or more likely because of—the confluence of supernatural beings in Castle’s Bluff, things like this just don’t happen.
I squared my shoulders and strode the final few feet to stand beside him, a frown creasing my brow. I opened my senses and caught the faint scent of a strange werewolf along with all of the other scents that I’d come to expect in this type of situation.
The coroner, Colleen Bennett, and her
team were finishing up and I would doubtless have the gory details in Hi-def waiting in my email when I got back to the office. Murders, or any violent crime for that matter, were so rare that Colleen served as both coroner and lead CSI. She was more than qualified and willing, so it was a win for us.
I gestured toward the body, taking only a cursory glance as the two ambulance guys loaded the body bag onto the gurney.
“Same as the last?” I asked Sam.
“Identical. Looks like another animal attack, honey. Same tracks as last time are gathered around the body—some sort of dog or wolf. A big one.” He paused for a few seconds. “We gotta find what’s doing this, Cori. What was done to that poor girl ... nobody deserves that.”
His voice was tired and his thick salt-and-pepper hair was standing on end. I knew he’d been running his fingers through it like he did anytime he was frustrated.
He gestured toward my running clothes. “I got this handled if you want to go home and change or something.”
I gave him a wry half-smile. “I will, but first I wanna take a look at the scene before everything gets trampled worse than it has. See you back at the station in an hour?”
Sam nodded. “See ya then, kiddo.”
Despite his use of pet names, Sam respects my position as sheriff. As a matter of fact, he’s the one who pushed for it when others urged him to step into the role instead. He said he likes fishin’ too much to listen to old ladies bicker over parking tickets. To be fair, that’s definitely a time-suck.
I noted the slight hitch in his step as he walked back to his cruiser. He brushed off his aches and pains, but I worried about him. At 65, he was healthier than a lot of people in their early 50s, but still.
I picked my way to the body, careful not to step on any tracks or get in the way of the photographer. Huge, dog-like footprints surrounded the body, so numerous that they overlapped each other. I pinched my lips together as I bent down to study them; the prints confirmed what I already knew: it was a werewolf, and a big one.
Some of the impressions pushed deep into the mud, indicated that the wolf had been dragging something, which corresponded with the wider drag marks that were presumably left by the woman’s feet. Others were less pronounced, as if the beast had been just standing or walking around the area.
It was as if he didn’t care if he got caught, which was a problem on a number of levels. He had to know the pack wouldn’t tolerate this, and if we didn’t get him, the Trackers would, and that was a hot mess that I wanted no part of. Ever. So, he didn’t care who knew what he’d done, and actually seemed to be flaunting it, but why?
I closed my eyes and pulled a deep breath through my nose, trying to pick apart the different scents. I may as well have saved my breath. Just like with the other victims, all I could discern was that it was definitely the same single male werewolf that had committed the other crimes. I opened my eyes and looked around one last time before getting up.
“Cori?” somebody said from behind me. My heart stuttered at the familiar voice, even though I hadn’t heard it in nearly twelve years.
I paused as a tangled rat’s nest of competing emotions writhed in my stomach. I mentally wadded them up and shoved them to the back of my mind. That was a therapy session or twelve for another time.
I willed my heart to slow before I pushed to my feet and turned to face the only man I’d ever really loved. Because, you know, I didn’t have enough to deal with right then. I schooled my face into a friendly yet detached expression.
The years had chiseled the round edges of youth into the sharper angles that came with maturity. It looked good on him. His hair was lighter, pushing toward a sandy blond, and his skin was a deep bronze that came from a life lived outdoors. I struggled not to look at muscles that were straining through the t-shirt he was wearing.
Down, girl, I warned myself.
“Zach! How long’s it been?” As if I didn’t know. I stepped under the police tape and stood before him.
He was smiling, but his eyes looked wary. “Twelve years.”
I nodded, doing my best to fake nonchalance as my heart tried to beat its way out of my ribcage. “Wow! Long time. What are you doing here?” And why didn’t you leave me to begin with? I shook the errant thought off.
“I have a friend here who told me about the animal attacks you’ve been having, so I came down to see if I could help. I’d just arrived in town when I heard there’d been another woman killed by a large canine.”
I confirmed what he’d heard; it’s not like it hadn’t already made the gossip circuit, anyway. “Wolf I think, but I won’t know for sure until the coroner sends me her report. At this point, I can’t confirm that they’re related until I hear from her.”
He’d said he came to see if we need some help. What did that mean? “So, are you some kind of vengeful hunter and you’re here to offer to help us track this thing and kill it, or are you actually a reporter looking for a story? Because to be honest, if it’s the latter, my office has nothing to say to you that we haven’t already said to the others.”
Zach chuckled. “Not exactly as cut-and-dried as the former, and definitely not as nosy or predatory as the latter. I just came to help.” He leaned toward me and handed me a business card.
A shiver ran up my arm when our fingers touched and my mouth went dry. The smell of sunshine, fresh-cut wood, and clean laundry floated toward me and I just wanted to lean in and inhale him. I gave myself a mental shake and glanced down at the card:
Zach McClure
Licensed Wildlife Control Specialist
HIS PHONE NUMBER WAS listed below it, along with his federal license number. I slid my hand down my face. Having a “specialist” who thought he was dealing with a standard animal was so not what I needed right now. “So you think we should bring in outside help?”
Zach frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “As a matter of fact, I do. According to press releases, you have what appears to be a wolf, or possibly a panther or mountain lion, that’s gotten a taste of human flesh and I can help you with that. And you don’t actually bring me in. I hold a license to do this and am only notifying you as a courtesy.”
Really now? Despite the urge to tell him exactly what he could do with his license and courtesy, I shifted my weight, trying to find a diplomatic way to discourage him. I didn’t need anyone poking around in this when I hadn’t figured it out yet. It was both a safety and a security risk. A rogue werewolf going around killing people in my territory was my responsibility.
“I really don’t think the answer is sending hunters out into the forest to track and shoot anything until we know for sure what we’re dealing with.” I handed the card back. “My people and I are on this, and I have faith that we’ll have it resolved shortly.”
Apparently, my shot at diplomacy missed the mark because he got snippy. “Right! Because you’ve done such a bang up job so far. I’ll have you know I’m not exactly an amateur in cases like this. I’ve dealt with animals that would keep you inside at night if you knew they existed. Keep the card.” He pushed it back into my hand before he turned on his heel and stomped away without looking back.
I sighed. I hadn’t won any points with him, but I couldn’t let him run around thinking I was okay with him traipsing into my woods with a loaded weapon, especially consider I WAS one of those animals that would keep people up at night. If he thought I was being rude or condescending, then so be it.
My mission was critical. I had to catch a murderous werewolf before he could kill anybody else or out our kind. If that meant hurting some feelings, well, suck it up, Buttercup. There wasn’t much I could do about it.
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Thank You!
Thank you for joining me Keyhole Lake, a small southern Georgia town where the residents are quirky, the ghosts are sassy, and the tea is sweet. I hope you enjoyed reading Mayhem and Murder as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Books by Tegan
Books in the Witches of Keyhole Lake Series
Sweet Murder
Murder to the Max
Murder so Magical
Mayhem and Murder
Murder and Marinade
Witches of Keyhole Lake Shorts
Bubble, Bubble, Here Comes Trouble
Witching for a Miracle
Cori Sloan Witchy Werewolf Mysteries (Coming April, 2018)
Howling for Revenge
About the Author
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.
