Ravens Cove, An Iconoclast Thriller (Book 1)
The Spiritual Battle for a Small Alaska Town
By Mary Ann Poll
America’s Lady of Supernatural Thrillers
A SUSPECT SURFACES
“No, Mrs. Tellamoot, this is not a ghost,” Kat stated. The old legends of Ravens Ravine are being stirred up like a long-silent bees’ nest getting bumped in the spring.
“It’s the legend! It has come to life!”
“This is not a legend, Mrs. Tellamoot, these are homicides!”
“Killings just like the legend, Katrina—the legend handed down! This thing is back.”
“These are murders, Mrs. Tellamoot. Don’t believe this is supernatural. So lock your doors, and make sure Benny is on guard.”
“Benny doesn’t do much more than bark these days,” Mrs. Tellamoot said of her half wolf–half husky.
“At least he could warn you. If Benny barks, you call here or my cell, okay?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Tellamoot sounded somewhat relieved as they hung up.
The door chimed just as Kat returned the phone to its cradle.
Bart and Agent Melbourne walked in. They obviously reached some sort of truce earlier, but the suspension of hostilities didn’t explain Bart acting like he just found his long, lost friend.
“Mornin’, Kat. Thanks again for coming in. How’s it going?” Bart asked.
Kat watched he and Ken continue toward Bart’s office, deep in conversation.
Mr. Smooth stopped in his tracks, as if he’d just been snapped out of a trance, looked back, and said, “Good morning, Kat.”
The ire rose. “You have no invitation to call me by the name reserved for my closest friends and family! It’s Ms. Tovslosky to you, Agent Melbourne.” Kat turned to her report and began to type, fast.
Ken smiled. ‘She’s a looker,’ his Uncle Ed would have said. Dark hair, green eyes, small upturned nose. Appeared somewhat Irish and yet not. Whatever the genes, they had come together to make her someone hard to ignore. He decided to call her Kat anyway. It fit. On
the ready, claws out, one warning-swipe accompanied by a growl. This could get to be fun. I wonder how angry she’ll get?
Ken resumed the conversation with Bart. Who, to his surprise, possessed more knowledge than Ken first thought. In fact, Bart was a bright man and well-studied. Made it somewhat understandable as to why he resisted any help. His stubbornness struck a deep chord in Ken. It’s like studying my own reflection.
Bart stopped at his doorway. “Did they find Amos yet?”
“Nope. But Arnie did say they would get here as soon as he could track him down.”
“Interrupt me for Amos or a call from the Anchorage ME.”
Bart and Ken entered Bart’s office. Kat could hear murmuring and hushed sounds as they worked to piece the puzzle together.
Kat prayed they could. A dead John Doe made it scary. A dead member of Ravens Cove made it personal, then terrifying.
“God help us.” Kat did not make a habit of praying, but she thought a small plea couldn’t hurt.
The ME’s office called at the same time Amos and Arnie sidled through the door.
“When it rains, it pours.”
“What?” Arnie Thralling asked.
“Sorry, talking to myself today. I’ll be right with you.”
“Do you need me for anything? I’ve got a boat to overhaul and winterize.”
“No, just Amos. Thanks for finding him for us, Arnie.” She graced him with a dazzling smile.
Arnie relaxed, hung his head, and grinned like a schoolboy. “Welcome, Miss.”
Kat put the ME’s call through to Bart and escorted Amos to the coffee room, which doubled as their interrogation room.
“How’s the fishing?”
“No luck. But there’s always tomorrow. I sure won’t have any luck later today when I’m done here, thanks to Sheriff Bart wantin’ to talk.”
“I know. But you have discovered two bodies in two days. Don’t you think they might be a little more important than fishing?”
Amos wrinkled his brow in thought.
The gesture said it all about Amos and about most of the town’s residents. Nothing took precedence over fishing.
“Guess so,” he said, half meaning it.
“Make yourself comfy, Amos.” Kat offered him a cup of black coffee, packets of fake cream and real sugar, and a red stir stick.
Amos relaxed. “Thanks.”
Kat smiled and left to tackle the all-elusive report.