Read an Excerpt
By Judith E. French
Copyright © 2006
Judith E. French
All right reserved.
Later, when Bailey retired to her cozy bedroom, she realized
that although she and Emma had chatted for an hour, the older
woman had answered none of her questions. In fact, the entire
day had been pretty much a loss, and she was beginning to feel
like Alice down the rabbit hole. She'd never gotten enough
signal on her cell to call Elliott; Emma's house phone still
wasn't working, and she had been unable to get in contact with
Forest McCready. The only thing she had done was to stuff
herself with Emma's cooking. Between lunch and supper, she'd
be surprised if she could pour her butt into her new jeans in
She showered, pulled on a soft tee shirt, and a pair of
athletic shorts, and tried to read another chapter of the
historical romance she'd brought with her. The story was a
good one, but her eyes wouldn't cooperate. They kept drifting
shut. Finally, she gave up, yawned, switched out the light,
and lay in the dark listening to the waves lapping against the
shore, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional hoot of an
Bailey dropped off to sleep almost immediately, waking
sometime in the night wondering where she was. The sheets
were clean and soft; the mattress was comfortable, she didn't
need to use the bathroom and she wasn't thirsty. What had
roused her? She rarely had problems with insomnia, even when
she traveled. So why ...
The sound of whistling came from outside, a nursery rhyme that
she hadn't heard in years. Bailey's mouth went dry as she
slipped from the crisp sheets and went to the window without
bothering to turn on a light. Wisps of fog enveloped the
house, making it impossible to tell the exact source of the
Her windows, she remembered, faced the bay, but there were
trees between the house and the beach. The water was so black
as to be almost Stygian; the trees were smudges of dark
against a darker background, but patches of sand along the
shore glowed with a dull iridescent in the night.
Goosebumps rose on her bare arms. She was on the second
floor, her door securely locked with a deadbolt. Whoever it
was outside, probably some kid or a drunk trying to find his
way home, she was in no possible danger. So why did the old
refrain unnerve her so?
The whistler was definitely there in the yard, between the
lapping waves and the porch. He must be. If she looked hard
enough, Bailey could almost fancy she saw his outline in the
shadows of the walnut tree. She shut the window and locked
it, but still the sound filtered through the glass into the
room. Unbidden, the words of the old refrain rose in her
"Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring,
And if that diamond ring don't shine,
Papa's going to buy you a coach and nine,
And if that coach and nine won't pull,
Papa's going to buy you ..."
What? What was the rest of the song? Why did she care?
Annoyed, she climbed back into bed and buried her head under a
pillow. If she didn't get a decent night's sleep, she'd look
like hell for her meeting with McCready in the morning. And
she would locate him tomorrow. It was ridiculous to think
otherwise. She'd sign whatever papers she had to sign,
inspect her inheritance, and take the first boat back to
Elliott had been right. He'd never been particularly
sympathetic about her desire to know more about her birth
family, but he'd always said that if she had to know, the
thing to do was to hire a professional to investigate. Maybe
this attorney, Forest McCready. If he lived here, he must
know something about her birth mother or find someone who did.
The cost of a private detective had always been out of the
question on a teacher's salary, considering Elliott's credit
card debts she'd had to make good on. But, perhaps if she got
some money out of the property her Great Aunt Elizabeth had
left her, she could hire this McCready to find answers to the
questions that had troubled her for so long. And if she was
lucky, she might even have enough left to pay off her car.
She smiled, imagining what it would be like to be debt free.
"Just dreams," she murmured and giggled aloud. She'd probably
end up with a fallen-down house that no one would want and
she'd have to pay to have bulldozed before she could place the
lot with a realtor. Could you refuse a bequest? That was
one more question to add to her growing list.
This time, she lay awake for what seemed like hours, and when
she finally drifted off, it was to disturbing dreams of being
trapped in a spooky graveyard of crumbling tombstones made of
crab cakes and ringing cell phones that she was never able to
reach before the caller hung up.
Excerpted from Blood Kin
by Judith E. French
Copyright © 2006 by Judith E. French .
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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