BLACK SILK
by Metsy Hingle
Mira Books ~ ISBN: 0778322815

ORDER THIS BOOK! 
(this link opens a new browser window)

The victim was young, lovely and seduced by the wrong man...

Mere hours before her wedding the fiancee of real estate mogul JP Stratton is found strangled in her penthouse. New Orleans homicide detective Charlotte "Charlie" Le Blanc views the crime scene, finding a black silk stocking draped casually beside the body—a chilling calling card from the killer.

The dramatic clue leads Charlie to a world of privilege and wealth, and before long she singles out a suspect whose identity creates a furor in the city: Cole Stratton, JP's estranged son. But what she doesn't know is that Cole has been set up, and while she sets out to prove his guilt a real killer is on the loose—a man who now has Charlie in his sights, a man with yet another black silk stocking.

REVIEWS

EXCERPT

She should have found him by now. Ignoring the chill of the February wind, Detective Charlotte "Charlie" Le Blanc stared down at her sister's grave. Six years had passed since an unspeakable monster had murdered her sister Emily. And still he remained free. Free to walk the streets. Free to breathe. Free to kill again.

Thunder rumbled overhead and the angry sound seemed to echo Charlie's mood. She was no closer to finding her sister's killer now than she'd been when she'd quit law school and joined the New Orleans police force almost six years ago.

"It sounds like we're in for some bad weather," her mother remarked, drawing Charlie's attention from her dark thoughts.

"I wish you had worn your heavy coat like I asked you to, Gordon."

"My jacket is fine," her father replied. "Honey, this is New Orleans, not New York."

Charlie looked over at the two of them. Grief had taken its toll on both of them, she thought. Despite the grief counseling that had helped them get through the loss of their middle daughter, the twinkle in her mother's hazel eyes was never quite as bright again, her smiles never quite as wide. And although he'd never fallen apart, Emily's murder had left its mark on her father as well. The lines around his eyes had grown deeper, his hair grayer, his laughter less frequent.

When another growl of thunder was followed by a crack of lightning, her father placed an arm around her mother's shoulder. "Looks like that rain is moving in this direction. We'd better go if we want to beat the downpour."

"All right," her mother responded and walked over to the headstone. Stooping down, she placed a bouquet of yellow roses in front of it. After pressing her fingers to the marble stone where Emily's name had been engraved, she straightened and returned to her husband's side. "Charlotte, are you coming?"

"Not just yet. You and Dad go on ahead. I won't be long."

"I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone," her mother said. "It's not safe."

"Mom, I'm a cop," Charlie protested.

"You're still our little girl," her mother informed her.

"Your mother's right, Charlie," her father told her. "We'll wait and walk you to your car."

Charlie fingered the package of yellow M&M candies in her jacket pocket. It was a silly gift — her sister's favorite snack in her favorite color. It had become both a joke and a tradition since she'd fished out six of the yellow candies from a bag of the treats, bundled them up in tissue, tied it with a yellow ribbon and presented it to Emily for her sixth birthday. Emily had adored it. So every birthday that had followed, Charlie had added another candy to mark her sister's age and presented her with the gift — right up to the year that her sister was killed. And for the past six years, she had continued the tradition. Only now she placed the gift on Emily's grave. She knew it was foolish. After all, her sister was dead and as far as she knew, ghosts, if there was such a thing, didn't eat candy. But continuing the practice somehow kept the memory of her sister close. It also renewed her determination to keep the promise she'd made to both of them at Emily's funeral — to find her sister's killer and bring him to justice. "I'll be fine, Dad," she told him.

"Charlotte," her mother began.

"I'll only stay a few minutes." She kissed her mother on the cheek and then her father. "Now you two go on before the rain hits. I won't be long. I promise."

"Are you still coming over for dinner?" her mother asked.

"Yes. But I've got some paperwork to do at the station first so I may be a little late."

"That's all right. Anne got sent out on some kind of assignment at the TV station this afternoon and she'll probably be late, too," her mother explained. "We'll just plan on eating a little later than usual."

"Sounds good. I'll see you tonight," she said.

"Make sure you don't stay long," her father instructed.

"I won't," she promised again. Once her parents had departed, Charlie walked over to the marble stone that marked her sister's grave. She retrieved the package of twenty-five yellow M&Ms from her pocket and placed it beside the roses her mother had brought. "Happy birthday, Em," she whispered just before the skies opened up.

Charlie made a run for it. By the time she reached her car, the black boots she'd splurged on the week before were a mess and she was soaked to the skin. A gust of wind sent a surge of rain into the vehicle as she hurried inside. After starting the car, she pushed wet clumps of hair away from her face. She was debating whether to go home and get a dry jacket before heading to the station when her cell phone rang. "Le Blanc," she answered as she hit the defrost button on the dashboard. "It's Kossak,"

"What's up?" she asked Vince Kossak, her partner for the past two years.

"We've got a possible 187," Vince informed her, giving her the code for a homicide.

"What's the location?" she asked.

"The Mill House Apartments in the Warehouse District," Vince replied. "I'm headed there now."

"I'm on my way." Maybe she had yet to find justice for her sister Emily, but at least she could try to find justice for someone else.

He stood across the street shadowed by both his umbrella and the trees in the small park. Smiling, he watched the activity unfold at the apartment building. It had been risky for him to hang around, but the camouflage of the rain made it too tempting to resist seeing the reaction to his handiwork.

Everything had gone according to plan. The discovery of Francesca's body by the maid couldn't have gone better if he'd scripted the scene himself. Which, come to think of it, he had — at least indirectly, he thought proudly. Maybe when he finally collected the money due him, he would invest some of it in the movie business. Making movies in Louisiana had become big business and it made sense for him to get in on some of the action. Better yet, instead of simply being the money-man, he would act as the movie's director. After all, he had directed the players in the drama going on across the street for months now, hadn't he? And look at what a masterful job he'd done. Yes, he thought with a chuckle, the idea of directing appealed to him — almost as much as killing Francesca had appealed to him.

The M.E.'s van pulled up and he shoved his plans for the future aside. Another group of the city's gofers exited the van followed by a tall woman wearing an ugly beige raincoat. Mid-forties, moderately attractive, he thought, studying her. After speaking to the doorman for a moment, she turned and began giving instructions to the men accompanying her. The medical examiner herself, he realized, his gloved fist tightening on the handle of his umbrella. Another woman in a position of power — power that she wielded over the men beneath her. Adrenaline surged through him as he considered the prospect of showing her what real power was. He couldn't risk it, he told himself as he watched her and her minions enter the building. Besides, she really wasn't worthy of his attention.

Now the pretty, blond detective who had arrived flashing her badge was another matter altogether. He smiled. He hadn't anticipated that the police department would assign a woman to Francesca's case and certainly not one so young and attractive. Even all wet and in the bland clothes, she was a looker. And hadn't he always been partial to blondes? She was a bonus, one he hadn't expected. He was going to enjoy sparring with this one. And maybe he would do more than just sparring, he amended with a smile as he touched the black silk stocking in his coat pocket.

But the lady cop would have to wait, he decided. First...first, he had to put the next part of his plan into play. Whistling, he strode down the street toward his car.

ORDER THIS BOOK! 
(this link opens a new browser window)

More Previews

Biography | Bookshelf | Contest | Home
Guest Book | Newsletter

 

 

 

Special Offers for Authors on book promotion and web design

Get 2 BOOKS + a mystery gift  from  eHarlequin.com

 

Do you have some old dolls in the attic? If you have an old doll that's just collecting dust, or that's stored away in a box somewhere... Author Laura Mills-Alcott and her daughter restore old dolls from the 1920s - 1940s. They are currently buying dolls for a very special project, and may be interested in buying YOUR doll(s).  To find out more click here.

AUTHORS

The Romance Club Home Page