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Jessica sat quietly for a moment, letting the idea sink in. “You know what, Fiona? I think you might be on to something.”
“Hey, it can’t hurt, right?”
“No, it can’t. Maybe my mojo decided to take a little vacation of its own and is waiting for me at the Lighthouse Bed and Breakfast.”
“I think it’s worth going to see.”
“I think you’re right,” said Jessica, warming to the idea. “I’m going to give them a call and see if they have a room I can have for a week or so.”
“Good for you.”
“Thanks, Fiona. I appreciate not only your idea, but your support.”
“It’s yours. That’s what friends are for. Let me know how it goes and remember, I’m only a phone call away.”
Jessica didn’t waste any time calling the bed and breakfast. She was in luck, their best room—the largest and with a stunning view of the northern Atlantic Ocean—was available. She booked it, packed her bag, and let Sudie know where she was going and that hopefully she’d be gone for the week.
Then she backed out of her driveway in her 1953 Ferrari 250 MM, an innovative and distinctive long-distance race car from some of the venerable automaker’s most distinctive years. It was not the most practical vehicle—that would be her Range Rover—but it was the one she liked to drive the most and that had always had the ability to raise her spirits.
Heading north along the coast road, Jessica couldn’t help but feel she was driving toward a destination that would allow her to recapture her inspiration and escape from the pressure of her life. She was committed to reconnecting with who she once was as a writer, rediscovering ‘the mystery’ of creating an intriguing mystery and crafting the perfect solution that had readers guessing in the same way that had once inspired her so long ago.
Destiny? Get ready; Jessica Murdoch is coming for you.
CHAPTER 4
THORN
Thorn Wilder sat in the weekly meeting of the Major Crimes Unit of the Maine State Police. They liked to think of themselves as a more civilized version of the Texas Rangers. Andrew Mills, the Chief of the Maine State Police, was conducting the meeting. He was talking about statistics and crime rates, and Thorn did his best to look interested. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but lately it seemed that a lot of police work was more about public relations and spin than it was about solving crime.
His growing disillusionment with being able to make a difference in Maine made him question his recent decision to turn down an offer to head up the sheriff’s office in a county up in the northern portion of the state. It was remote, cold, and covered a large territory. It was also headquartered in Badger’s Drift. Badger’s Drift was the home of Jessica Murdoch. Jessica Murdoch—the sexy, successful mystery writer who had captured his attention earlier this year. Despite his admonishment not to get involved in the murder of a fellow writer, she and her buddies had been instrumental in breaking the case wide open.
Making her comfortable on the couch in her hotel room, covering her with the room’s soft blanket, and leaving her had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He’d left her on the couch because he’d been concerned that if he’d carried her to the bed, he’d have joined her there. Jessica Murdoch was an enigma and one not easily solved. She was tall, had a curvaceous, hourglass figure, with long, wavy red hair that he fantasized about fanning out over his thighs as she knelt before him and put that sarcastic mouth of hers to better use than sassing him. She was highly intelligent with a wicked sense of humor and a spirit he wanted to tame to his hand. He didn’t want to break her, but he wanted to be the one man to whom she would submit and follow.
The changing of the slide in the Chief’s presentation clicked him back to reality. Maine was considered to be one of the safest states in which to live. In addition, most of their serious crimes were so-called ‘white-collar’ and were of a non-violent nature.
Three months ago, there had been a spectacular murder at an enormous event for readers and writers. Thorn had been in Kennebunkport, a historic village turned seaside tourist destination, to get in some good fishing. Fishing was one of those things that had the ability to reconnect him with his better self.
As he’d already been in town, he’d been tasked to be the State Police’s representative and to lead the investigation.
He’d barely stepped off the fishing boat when his phone had rung.
“Wilder? There’s been a murder in Kennebunkport. You were spending a few days there, right?” the head of the Major Crimes Unit asked.
“Yes, sir. I had a few days off.”
“Consider those cancelled and get your ass down to the event center. Some damn mystery writer has gone and gotten herself killed.”
By the time he’d arrived, he’d expected the crime scene to be completely useless. Fortunately, an experienced former Baltimore homicide-detective-turned-mystery-writer had taken charge of the scene and ensured that vital forensic evidence had not been destroyed. The fact that she’d snatched a thumb drive found close to the victim’s purse had never made it into his report, nor had the source of what the numbers on the hard drive represented. As much as he would have hated to admit it, Jessica and her friends had saved him and the local police an inordinate amount of vital time in catching the perpetrator. The fact that it had almost gotten Jessica killed had given him nightmares for weeks afterwards.
In the intervening months, he’d read all of her books. They were good. Sure, there was some romance in them, but her police procedures were on point, and she created well-rounded, balanced characters. He’d told himself that he’d simply found a new author and was enjoying her work. What he didn’t want to admit, even to himself, was that he’d also looked her up online, reviewing her website and watching videos of interviews and podcasts she’d done.
What had struck him was that while she might turn that sarcastic wit on interviewers or other authors of equal or greater stature, she was unfailingly kind and gracious to her readers and those authors just starting out. He admired that. It would have been easy to be a bully. God knows everything they learned about the murder victim, Sandy Parkinson, had shown her to be a bully.
“Are we boring you, Wilder?” asked the chief.
Thorn was able to sneak a peek at the screened slide and knew precisely where they were in the chief’s presentation.
“No sir; not at all…”
