The Mercy Oak (Bay Tanner Mysteries) - Hardcover

Wall, Kathryn R.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0312375344 ISBN 13: 9780312375348

Verlag: Minotaur Books,US, 2008

Inhaltsangabe

In the South, family is the one thing worth dying—or killing—for. . . .

Things are heating up between young widow Bay Tanner, sometime private investigator, and Red, local sheriff’s sergeant and her late husband’s brother. But a new case that strikes too close to home endangers more than just her love life.

An unexpected call from her housekeeper’s son hints that a recent hit-and-run may have been more than an accident. Roberto fears the victim, a local crusader for the rights of illegal immigrants, may have been silenced. But almost immediately it becomes clear that the dead girl was not the intended victim, and before Bay has a chance to launch an investigation, Roberto himself disappears.

Meanwhile, Red and the rest of the sheriff’s deputies are working overtime to solve a string of holdups terrorizing local businesses and banks. When Lavinia Smalls, longtime companion to Bay’s crippled father, is caught up in one of these robberies, Bay finds herself enmeshed in yet another mystery. What does Lavinia know about this gang of thieves, and why is she so reluctant to share her secret? What clues does her friend, the ancient black man with the intricately carved walking stick, carry in his muddled memory?

Then the strange phone calls begin, and Bay realizes someone desperately wants her off the case—but which one? Determined to protect those she regards as family, Bay struggles against the fear that she may be endangering the very people she’s come to love in order to bring a killer to justice. Almost too late, she discovers that tempers run hot and prejudices deep when it comes to the growing immigrant population of the sultry South Carolina Lowcountry.

In Kathryn Wall’s eighth captivating Southern mystery, Bay Tanner will pay a terrible price to uncover the secrets of the Mercy Oak.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kathryn R. Wall practiced accounting for twenty-five years in Ohio before retiring with her husband to Hilton Head, South Carolina.

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Praise for the Novels of Kathryn R. Wall

Sanctuary Hill
Wall once again delivers credible characters, a gripping plot, and pitch-perfect local color.
Publishers Weekly

This is the seventh Bay Tanner mystery in seven years . . . and for my money, one of her best.
The Island Packet

Bishop s Reach
Oozing with Southern charm, this whodunit flows like hot molasses to a deliciously clever conclusion.
Publishers Weekly

Curling up with a new Bay Tanner book feels just as it should like settling in for tea with an interesting old friend, always familiar, yet always surprising.
Lowcountry Weekly

Resurrection Road
Intricate and suspenseful.
Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Resurrection Road should be part of your carry-on baggage on your next trip.
Chicago Tribune

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Excerpt

If I’d taken time to read the paper that morning, I might have been better prepared for my involvement in the Montalvo girl’s death. Or maybe not.

But with Christmas less than two weeks away, I’d simply skimmed the front page, then grabbed the Belk’s ad from among the dozens that nearly doubled the usual girth of the Sunday Island Packet, and raced off to join the pre-holiday madness.

I generally despise shopping, especially as a recreational activity. Living on a subtropical island off the southernmost tip of South Carolina allowed me to spend most of the year in shorts and T-shirts. I ran the office on a pretty casual basis as well, so I had no professional wardrobe to worry about, either.

My business—Simpson & Tanner, Inquiry Agents—was still hanging on by its fingernails. My late mother’s trust fund and my own investment portfolio had been keeping us afloat, with the occasional request for a background check providing a meager supplemental income. The local attorney I’d worked for briefly on the Dumars murder case had also thrown a couple of things our way, but we’d yet to attract another major paying client.

After the events of the past summer, I’d kept my promise to my brother-in-law, Red Tanner, and backed off from any potential case that even hinted at the possibility of personal jeopardy. That suited my associate, Erik Whiteside, just fine. His own close brush with death had unnerved him, and for a while I’d been afraid he might decide to abandon our struggling enterprise altogether. His uncanny ability to coax information out of the most stubborn computers and databases made him highly employable, and I knew he could make a lot more money somewhere else. His personal loyalty to me kept him showing up three mornings a week at our tiny office near Indigo Run, and I was more than professionally grateful. The bond we’d forged in the heat of danger had made Erik as much family as my one remaining partner, retired judge Talbot Simpson, who also happened to be my cantankerous father.

The Mall at Shelter Cove lies about midway down Hilton Head Island, screened from busy Highway 278 by a narrow belt of trees. The cars in the parking lot near the big department store overflowed onto the landscaping. I wandered the lanes for a few minutes and finally lucked into a spot when a gray Mercedes backed out and pulled away. I slid my new Jaguar into the narrow space and hoped my neighbors would be gentle with their doors. I’d managed to total three vehicles over the past few years. Though none of the incidents had been technically my fault, my insurance agent had stopped taking my calls.

I tucked the newspaper ad under my arm and drew in a deep breath, preparing for battle. I had my fingers wrapped around the door handle when my cell phone chirped. Although it carried our coastal area code, I didn’t recognize the caller’s number. I hesitated for a moment before pushing the button.

“Bay Tanner.”

A short pause. “Mrs. Tanner?” The words came out in a terse, choked whisper.

“Yes?”

“This is Bobby Santiago.”

Caught completely off guard, I slumped back in the seat. Why would one of my housekeeper’s children be calling me on a Sunday morning? My first thought was, Why isn’t he at Mass? And then I remembered that Roberto, Americanized to Bobby, had been the second of Dolores’s very Catholic children to head off to college. He wouldn’t be the first freshman to backslide once out from under his parents’ thumbs.

“Is something wrong, Bobby?” I asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I mean—”

“Slow down. Is it your mother?”

Dolores Santiago had been attacked a couple of years before by intruders in my beach house. Through perseverance and fortitude, she’d managed to overcome her injuries, but the effects still lingered. I felt the familiar flush of guilt creep up my throat.

“No, Mom’s fine as far as I know. It’s . . . Did you see anything in the paper this morning about a hit-and-run? On the island?”

Dear God, I thought, not Angelina or Alejandro. Dolores would die if anything happened to one of her kids.

“Just tell me, Bobby. Quickly. Is it your brother or sister?”

“No! I— Infierno! I’m making a mess of this!”

I heard him draw a deep shuddering breath.

“I think a . . . a friend of mine died last night. I thought maybe you might have seen something about it.”

“I didn’t read the paper this morning. I’m sorry about your friend.” I waited, but Bobby didn’t rush to fill the silence. “Is there anything I can do?”

His voice, when it came, was soft, almost apologetic. “I think maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

 

I had hoped to spend a productive hour of Christmas shopping, grab some lunch, and be home in time for the one o’clock kickoff of the Carolina Panthers football game. Red had promised to try and make it over by halftime. Instead, I found myself pulling out the chair from the desk in my cramped office at the agency. I’d stopped at the drugstore and bought another copy of the Packet along with a couple of packs of cheese-and-peanut-butter crackers to tide me over. I pulled a Diet Coke from the mini-fridge and spread the front section of the paper out on the glass-topped desk.

I would probably have skipped right over the brief mention on page three if I hadn’t been looking for it. The accident—which was what the paper was calling it, despite Bobby Santiago’s shocking suggestion of murder—had occurred shortly after one that morning, which explained the lack of details. A female had been struck and killed while crossing 278 on the north end of the island. No witnesses, at least none that had come forward by press time, and no description of the vehicle involved. A passing motorist had nearly run over the body in the road and called it in. Again, no name given.

I pulled up the Packet’s Web site, then moved on to those maintained by the local TV stations, but none of them had anything new to report. I had just retrieved my personal address book from my bag when the rattle of the doorknob made my head snap up. My hand groped automatically for the tiny Seecamp pistol before I remembered it lay nestled in the floor safe in the walk-in closet in my bedroom. Another promise I’d made to Red.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Erik Whiteside stepped around the door, his tall, lean body clad almost identically to mine in jeans and a gray Panthers sweatshirt. “Did I lose a day somewhere?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

A smile creased his boyish face and crinkled his soft brown eyes. “I’m working on something at home, and I forgot one of the disks I need.”

He crossed the narrow strip of carpet and perched on the corner of his desk, which would have doubled as the receptionist’s if the amount of business we generated had justified another employee.

“I got a call this morning,” I said, leaning back in my swivel chair. “You remember meeting any of Dolores’s kids?”

“No, I don’t think so. Why?”

I told him about Bobby’s strange call.

“How did he know about it? I mean, if...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Minotaur Books,US
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2008
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0312375344
• ISBN 13: 9780312375348
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 320
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar