Praise the Lard by Paisley Ray

Author:Paisley Ray
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: funny beach read, funny chick lit, best chick lit reads, female southern humorous mystery fiction, humorous mystery fiction, humorous southern chick lit, southern fiction humor
Publisher: Paisley Ray

THE REV OF A CAR woke me from a fitful nightmare. The one where fear blanketed my soul as emotions propelled me through tunnels filled with images of blurry faces.

As I rolled over, a shiver ran under my skin, and sweat soaked my spine. Tugging a pillow over my head, a musky citrus scent helped me register my location. Rising to my elbows, I noticed that Jackson’s side of the bed was empty. I ran my hand across the warm sheet. The attraction between us had overthrown my sensibilities. Before throwing the quilt off my legs, I called out, “Jackson!” but didn’t get a response. My jeans were bundled with my jacket, bra, and a folded note. Dashing from the warmth of the covers, I retrieved the note and read it in bed.

Early morning meeting. Promise to make you breakfast next time.

After pulling myself together and making a sweep of the house, I looked onto the street. Assured that Jackson’s truck was gone, I dashed out the front door, through the front porch to my car, and snagged my cold backpack from behind the driver seat. Retracing my steps, my leather flats made tracks on the frosty ground, but my nerves pulsed too hard for me to notice the clouds of cold I exhaled. Back inside, I headed for the dining room table. Digging into an inside pocket of my backpack, I removed the mystery key, and methodically I began to place the oxidized metal into each of the molds.

I’d tossed and turned most of the night with the dreams and now convinced myself that he was setting some sort of trap. Payback for busting his art forgery business freshman year? But after I fitted the key in the last casing, I realized there wasn’t a match. Determined that Jackson was hiding something, I began opening the sideboard drawers. A secretive hobby of sorts, snooping gave me a buzz nearly as good as opening presents Christmas morning. There was a stack of mismatched china, a beer coaster collection, some old receipts, all mildly interesting, but when I removed a palm-sized pamphlet that read The Prophecy That Saves, my alarm bells began to toll. It wasn’t so much the title as the dotted image beneath the words. It was Ophiuchus, the astral constellation of the Greek god.

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