The dead are serene, joyful characters. That’s been my experience, anyway. Since my best friend, Colleen, came back into my life—thirteen years after her funeral, mind you—the import of this has gradually permeated my brain, giving me a deep-seated sense of peace I hadn’t known before. I’m truly grateful for this gift.

That’s not to say there aren’t still days when Colleen works my very last nerve and I want to throttle her—like the day last September when I was trying to have a civilized conversation with Moon Unit Glendawn at The Cracked Pot over a Cobb salad.

It was the Tuesday after Labor Day. Moon Unit, who owned the place, took a seat across from me in the pink gingham-backed booth, something she typically did when she wanted to milk me for gossip, or share some. This was no ordinary day. Moon had called me the night before and said she needed to talk, which was somewhat akin to her telling me she needed to breathe. She was universally acknowledged as our town’s Chief Information Officer.

Colleen popped in beside Moon. My guardian spirit wore a green gingham sundress. Her long red curls shimmered with golden highlights. The thick mane draped loose well past her shoulders. Heat and humidity had no effect whatsoever on her since her death. I’d pulled my own hair into a ponytail to get it off my neck. Colleen flashed me an impish grin and propped her elbows on the table. She was up to something, no doubt about it.

I glanced at the ceiling, took a deep cleansing breath.

“Liz? Is this not a good time?” Moon clutched her chest with both hands.

“Of course. It’s fine. How’s your family? Everyone doing okay?”

Moon waved a hand dismissively, “They’re fine.”

“Sonny?” I hadn’t talked to Sonny Ravenel since we wrapped up the Drayton case about a week ago. Sonny was a Charleston Police detective. My husband, Nate Andrews, and I were private investigators. Our paths crossed professionally on occasion. Sonny was also my brother, Blake’s, best friend. I’d known Sonny forever.

Colleen leaned in.

Moon glanced over her shoulder, like maybe she was verifying no one had sat down behind her. Her eyes slid around the room. She leaned in. “Sonny?” she said casually. “Oh, he’s fine.”

I scrunched my face at her. Something was off.

“Y’all still dating?” I asked.

“Four months now.” Happiness shone from her eyes.

I was thinking how four months was a record for both Sonny and Moon. I smiled back at her. “Y’all sure seem to make each other happy.”

She kept smiling, tucked a nonexistent stray lock of hair behind her ear. Then she glanced around again.

“Spit it out already,” said Colleen.

I waited for Moon to speak her piece. She called this meeting.

“It’s just…” She licked her lips, took a breath. “You know how when you really know someone, you can read between the lines?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I’m almost positive Sonny intended for me to tell you this. But he’d never, ever admit that. I’ve got to figure out a way to tell you, without tellin’ you.”

“Tell me what, exactly?”

“Well, you know about Trina Lynn Causby, of course.” Moon shook her head. “Just heartbreaking.”

“Did Sonny catch that case?”

Moon nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

I said, “So there’s something about the Trina Lynn Causby case Sonny wants me to know, but he and I can’t have coffee and discuss it. Why doesn’t he just call me?”

Moon studied something over my shoulder. “I’m not a hundred percent certain?”

“Trina Lynn was shot in Philadelphia Alley Sunday night,” I said. “The news made it sound like a robbery gone bad. Do they already have a suspect?”

“So not what happened,” said Colleen.

What do you know about this? I threw the thought at her. Usually she could read my mind, which was how I communicated with her when other folks were around so they didn’t have me carted off to the nervous hospital.

“I know it was cold blooded murder, but that’s all the information I’ve been given at this point,” said Colleen. “The fact that I know that much means there’s a connection to this island.”

Colleen’s afterlife mission was serving as the guardian spirit of Stella Maris, our island home just north of Isle of Palms, South Carolina.

“I think they might. . .have a suspect in mind. More iced tea?” Moon picked up the pitcher and filled my glass. “By the way, have you seen Darius Baker since he moved back home?”

“Darius Baker?” The question seemed completely random. I drew a blank.

Moon examined her manicure.

“What does Darius Baker have to do with Trina Lynn being robbed and murdered?” I asked.

If Darius had known everything that was about to happen, he would’ve no doubt stayed in Hollywood and kept his job as the star of Main Street USA, the reality show that had made him a household name. The peace and quiet he sought back home in Stella Maris would prove to be illusive.

Have a seat. Let’s get you a glass of iced tea, and I’ll tell you all about it.

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Susan is giving away one (1) print copy of Lowcountry Boil, the first book in the series. Leave a comment below for your chance to win. Contest ends September 9, 2019 and US entries only. Good luck everyone!

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You can read more about Liz in Lowcountry Boomerang, the eighth book in the “Liz Talbot” traditional mystery series, released September 3, 2019.

Private investigators Liz Talbot and Nate Andrews are all set to enjoy some quality time on the beach. That’s until they get the news about Darius. Darius DeAndre Baker, star of the hit TV show, Main Street USA, has had enough of the Hollywood highlife. After ten years of visiting everyone else’s hometown, he returns to his own—Stella Maris, South Carolina.

But the moving trucks have barely unloaded when Trina Lynn Causby, Darius’s high school girlfriend, turns up dead, and the entire town reels as Darius is arrested.

Despite the mounting evidence against him, Liz and Nate believe Darius is innocent. They dig through a scandalously long list of suspects, including Darius’s three ex-wives—who have all arrived in Stella Maris—and his love child with Trina Lynn.

But Trina Lynn led a complicated life. She had at least one stalker and two suitors—one with a jealous wife who recently made a deliciously outrageous scene when Trina Lynn turned up at a charity ball.

As the danger mounts, Liz and Nate race to find a killer and clear Darius’s name—and keep him alive.

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About the author
Susan M. Boyer is the author of the USA Today bestselling Liz Talbot Mystery series. Her debut novel, Lowcountry Boil, won the Agatha Award for Best First Novel and the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense. She lives in Greenville, South Carolina, with her husband.

To learn more about Susan, visit her website at susanmboyer.com.

All comments are welcomed.