Beautiful Psychic Medium, Devin O’Shea must fight both a poltergeist and a handsome nonbeliever if she is to help the trapped spirit of a 1920’s flapper girl. This scary-sexy romp is a laugh out loud adult comedy and hauntingly beautiful romantic suspense.
The tour guide was pleased as he often was with his own voice and knowledge about the ghosts in St. Augustine. He shifted slightly. “There are two boys who play impish pranks on guests.”
Roxy moaned. “There’s only one! Lord, love a duck; he seems like ten at times! Good night in the morning!”
“And there is one evil spirit who has been known to terrorize anyone brave enough to stay in this haunted hotel.”
A sliver of cold passed over Devin. She shuddered as the draft sucked warm air from around her. Looking at Roxy, she noticed Roxy’s face was ashen. Roxy must have felt it too.
Devin’s stomach twisted into a knot. Her heart was jumping in her chest. Her breath was shallow. Her pulse began to beat erratically. She had lived for this moment all her life.
Looking toward Somerset Inn, Devin saw the lights of the parlor. Not ready to reopen for business, only Stuart Evans would be in residence. Except, of course, for the ghosts! Her senses were reeling and the hair on the back of her neck prickled as icy fingers ran up and down her spine. The air around her grew chillier and she knew she experiencing a cold spot. Ghosts were near. Real ghosts.
Devin took quick note of the visitors on the Ghost Tour. Each face was riveted on the Tour Guide. No one had the slighted look of alarm. Only she felt the desolate abyss of frigid air. The gates of the supernatural were opening up to her. She breathed in the terror, savoring each icy bite. She wanted to run but knew her legs would not carry her from this place. Not tonight.
Her breath was jagged. She began to shake.
“The other known ghost,” the tour guide continued,” is the spirit of a 1920’s flapper girl who was murdered almost eighty years ago today.”
Devin’s heart was hammered in her chest. Roxy leaned closer to Devin. A chill seemed to grow between them.
The moon was now cleansing the ground in soft white light. The wind carried with it the sweet scent of exotic flowers and rustled a scattering of dried leaves at her feet.
Devin slowly turned to Roxy. It was too late to run. She knew.
“Yes,” Roxy murmured in a voice as cool as ice water, “the girl who was murdered 78 years ago. That would be me.”