Title: Widow’s Walk, Martha’s Vineyard Murders Book 3
Author: Raemi A. Ray
Genre: Mystery
Publisher: Tule Publishing
Book Blurb:
Murder’s on the menu…
Attorney Kyra Gibson has a lot on her mind this Thanksgiving. She’s been working long hours on a multi-billion dollar corporate merger, her family is visiting from London, and her relationship with former police detective Tarek Collins is heating up. When she and her companions are invited by her aristocrat client to attend a formal gala at a historic mansion on Chappaquiddick, Kyra reluctantly agrees.
But Chappy is more than just a playground for the wealthy. It’s a wild, remote place cut off from civilization. When the first body is found, the occupants are worried. Was it an accident or murder? When a second guest is brutally killed and then a third, there’s no doubt and the guests fearfully turn on each other. They are locked in a house with a murderer picking them off one-by-one. Kyra, her best friend Chase Hawthorn, and Tarek must survive the night and find the killer, or one of them could be next.
Excerpt:
“What’s that?” Kyra leaned forward, her hands hitting the dashboard.
Through the mist, a dilapidated single lane bridge appeared … and disappeared into the fog beyond.
“Dike Bridge.” Tarek’s tone changed, went serious. He rolled down the window. “You have to be careful driving over it, especially at night.” Tarek reduced their speed to a crawl. “People have gone over.” The tires made a thumping sound as they rolled over the wooden slats, and the bridge creaked and groaned.
“Is it safe?” she asked, but Tarek didn’t answer.
He was steering with one hand, his other arm slung out the window. His eyes flicked back and forth between the road in front of them, and where his tires were hitting the
bridge below. Kyra looked back. Chase was waiting for their car to clear the bridge before proceeding. His Bronco slowly disappeared from view as they drove deeper into the fog. The Range Rover bumped as the tires exited the bridge and hit the dirt road. Tarek pulled over to the side and got out.
“Can it not hold the weight?” she asked through the window.
“It probably can. It was rebuilt not that long ago, but better safe than sorry. Stay here. I’m going to signal to him we’re over.”
Tarek jogged back up the bridge and into the mist. She heard him holler, but it was dull and muted, making him sound far away. When he returned, his hair was windswept.
He slid back into the seat and held his hands in front of the vent, rubbing them together.
“It’s cold out there.” He shivered. Kyra heard the thumping of a car and Chase flashed his lights. He pulled up behind them and got out, followed by Gerry and Cam.
“We have to take air out of tires,” Tarek said, opening the door. At her confused expression, he pointed to the sandy road ahead. “The road isn’t paved.” She glanced back and saw both Chase and Gerry squatting down by each front tire.
“I can help.”
Tarek leaned over, pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth. “Nah, we’ve got it. Stay warm.” And he was gone.
When he got back inside, he put his arm out the window and motioned to Chase to pass them. The Bronco moved forward. Kyra bit her bottom lip and ran her hands down her thighs. “He knows where we’re going?”
“He’s more familiar with these roads and if we get stuck, he can pull us out.”
“And if he gets stuck?”
Tarek’s pause lasted a second too long. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” Kyra’s eyes went wide.
The cars moved slowly, jostling over the uneven terrain. The road, little more than a trail of packed down sand with deep tracks, ran alongside the waterway connecting Pocha Pond to Cape Poge.
As they drove further out, the road became increasingly more treacherous. In some places, the tracks were so deep the undercarriage of the car scraped against the sandy mound between the divots. The road narrowed when the waterway widened. Wind blasted the car from the left.
Chase banked sharply to the right, driving up the dune. In front of them, the road had entirely washed away. Tarek cursed under his breath and followed. The tires slid on the loose sand and Tarek eased off the gas until the all-wheel drive found purchase and the car surged forward. Kyra felt a sense of reluctant relief that they were staying the night. Even if the ferries were running, driving back in the dark would be suicidal.
“Many of the year-round residents on Cape Poge have their own boats and helicopters,” Tarek said as if reading her mind.
Chappaquiddick was popular with the ultrawealthy. That Loriann was hosting her party there suggested it catered to the upper echelons of elite society.
The road narrowed and twisted. Tarek’s forehead creased in concentration and his grip on the steering wheel paled his knuckles. After what felt like forever, the top of the lighthouse came into view and the road forked, The Road to the Gut leading left toward the water.
“The last road on the right?” Tarek asked, and Kyra nodded, leaning forward. The road was barely a road at all now, just a cleared stretch of sand, with muddy offshoots that disappeared into the brush. Tarek followed Chase as he made a sharp right onto a crude muddy path barely wide enough for their cars.
“This can’t be it,” Kyra murmured, a feeling of dread pooling in her stomach.
“Do you see any driveways?” Tarek squinted.
The red brake lights of Chase’s Bronco flashed, casting a bloody glow on the ground. Then the white reverse lights came on. Tarek stopped. Chase’s head popped out the window, and he pointed. Kyra followed the line of his finger to a barely visible break in the foliage.
“Is Loriann mad?” she mumbled. “It can’t be through there.”
Tarek put the car in gear and turned onto the narrow trail.
Beyond the brush barrier, the driveway changed from soft sand to hard packed gravel. It curved around a copse of scraggly birches. Sitting forward, Kyra’s eyes widened as the manicured lawn, with neat flower beds and English-inspired gardens came into view.
They rounded the turn, and the house appeared.
“Wow.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
House didn’t do the structure justice. Neither did mansion. In France it’d be called a chateau, in England, a manor, but in America this was one of the cottages.
Verinder House.
A summer house for the Gilded Age’s uber-wealthy. Keeping with its neo-Georgian style, Verinder House was imposing and very symmetrical. From the vertically aligned windows, Kyra counted three floors. Tall windows framed the wide front entrance. Chimneys dotted the north and south sides of the roof, and she could just make out railings. It could have been a widow’s walk facing the sea.
She felt Tarek’s hand warm on her thigh. “It’s not so bad, is it?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.
No. No, it’s not.
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Author Biography:
Raemi A. Ray is the author of the Martha’s Vineyard Murders series, publishing in 2024. She takes inspiration from her travels to the island and around the world as well as from local and national headlines. Most of her books are based somewhat on real life. When not writing, working her other boring job, she earns her keep as the personal assistant to the resident house demons, Otto and DolphLundgren. She lives in Boston with her family.
Social Media Links:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RaemiRay/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/miss_raemi/