Misisipi

By Michael Reilly

"M-I-S-I-S-I-P-I" - When we need them to, some lies become truth.
A tragic childhood act has been rippling out across 25 years and now, in New Orleans on the eve of Hurricane Katrina, it's a tidal wave which will engulf everyone it touches.
Julianna Jameson is leaving home. She packs a bag. She books a flight. She leaves a note on the kitchen counter. She departs her Boston home and disappears, without a warning, without a goodbye.
For husband Scott, the initial shock carries a strange relief: their slide--from storybook soul mates to virtual strangers--could only end one way and it's been a long time coming.
And anyway, Julianna has always been... unconventional.
All that remains is to decipher the meaning behind her cryptic note. But that's before Scott finds evidence of her secret other actions on the day she left. A torrent of discovery shows just how little of Julianna's past he truly knew. They also cast a whole different light on the couple's present difficulties and offer Scott a sliver of hope for rescuing their future.
All he has to do now is follow her to the place where her dark history has called her home, where two powerful and ruthless adversaries are waging the endgame of a long and bloody feud. Julianna is the key. She's the only one who can stop it, because she's the one who started it.
Julianna is going home for the last time--to the city by the sea at the mouth of the river.
"A secret is a rotting anchor, hidden in deep water. You drop it and convince yourself that it's safe, tethered beyond sight. In that peculiar comfort, you forget that it binds you. And when a storm rolls in, it will not raise."

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Reilly
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301907038

Michael Reilly

Michael Reilly was born in Dublin, Ireland. He lives in County Cavan, Ireland. 'Misisipi' is his first novel. See more of Misisipi at http://www.facebook.com/misisipi.novel Praise for Misisipi: "... an action-packed novel crammed with adventure, subplots, romance, mystery, and intrigue all tied together by changing perceptions and the rise of a great storm that will ultimately transform everything... Vivid and satisfying." - Diane Donovan, Midwest Book Review, Feb 2013 “A well-paced narrative with a super flow of dialogue, description, and setting. The overall quality of writing is much better than most of the books I've been reading. Terrific style.” - Amazon Vine Reviewer, ABNA 2013 “This is one action packed book... turning the pages was easy and the need to find out what exactly was going on increased as the story continued.” – Marleen (More Than A Reading Journal Book Review)

Book preview

Copy - Wrong

If you are in possession of this electronic book and did not purchase it from an authorized seller, then, Tut-tut. Naughty you. But, to be honest: I know. I get it. I’ve been there myself. Time’s is tough, Bruddha. How bout this then? When you finish reading, if—and only if—you enjoyed the story and agree that the experience is worth paying somebody something, then check out the deserving organizations listed at the end of the book; make a contribution—$1… $2… $5… whatever you think this ‘free’ book is really worth to you after—and we’ll call it even-stevens. And if point-and-click charity is beyond your ability then remember our deal when next you encounter a street collector for the Salvation Army, Red Cross, Big Issue, Simon Community, Shelter, SVdP or whatever worthy cause the tin rattled under your nose happens to be for. Both Harold and I will appreciate the gesture, and we’ll be sure to say so when we see you in another life.

[18+] Age Suitability

The author has identified the recommended reading age of this work to be persons aged 18 years and over. It addresses adult themes and situations and is intended for mature readers. The work contains material which persons of a sensitive nature may find disturbing, upsetting, or offensive. This includes—Frequent extreme strong language, including strong sexual references and strong racial references—Sexual activity with strong detail—Strong violence—Sexual violence. Reader discretion is advised.

Table Of Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 13.

Chapter 14.

Chapter 15.

Chapter 16.

Chapter 17.

Chapter 18.

Chapter 19.

Chapter 20.

Chapter 21.

Chapter 22.

Chapter 23.

Chapter 24.

Chapter 25.

Chapter 26.

Chapter 27.

Chapter 28.

Chapter 29.

Chapter 30.

Chapter 31.

Chapter 32.

Chapter 33.

Chapter 34.

Chapter 35.

Chapter 36.

Chapter 37.

Chapter 38.

Chapter 39.

Chapter 40.

Chapter 41.

Chapter 42.

Chapter 43.

Chapter 44.

Chapter 45.

Chapter 46.

Chapter 47.

Chapter 48.

Chapter 49.

Chapter 50.

Chapter 51.

Chapter 52.

Chapter 53.

Hardy

Chapter 54.

Chapter 55.

Chapter 56.

Chapter 57.

Credits

Author Info

The Book Of Adam

The Feather

For protection

Chapter 1

1997 - Arizona

Highway 10, east of Oatman

Thursday May 29

Julianna Putnam sat on a heap of worn truck tires and sucked on the Marlboro she had sneaked from Christy’s bag. With her back propped against the shaded side of the fleapit gas station, she considered the straight-line shadow the single isolated building, alone in the dusty nowhere, made on the ground. Where Julianna sheltered was oppressively cloying, but in the open farther out, the exposed earth appeared to smolder under the sun’s blistering assault. The sizzling beneath her neck and arms, areas she took care to keep from touching the wall behind, reminded Julianna that the day had already made merry murder of her and it was barely noon now. She hocked a loogie from back of her throat and spat it out onto the cracked cement, drew on the Marlboro, and watched the wet stain burn to nothing.

You could just buy yourself a whole pack instead of stealing Christy’s by degrees. Kyra’s sudden appearance at the corner startled Julianna into a mid-inhalation choking fit. When she recovered, Julianna gave Kyra a sinner’s smile, but it only raised a rebuking pout from her more serious travelling companion.

I’m working up to her level of excess, Julianna explained. Baby steps. Though I may draw the line at cellphones. I’m not sure I like the idea of Dad knowing how to get hold of me at all times.

The tire’s fixed and back on the tail, reported Kyra.

Good, good. Julianna nodded. "How’s Storms-In-A-Teacup doing? Is she back on the reservation yet?"

Kyra looked over her shoulder. Christy? Doubtful. She’s a special cup of crazy and this morning’s fun sure didn’t help. At least she’s still asleep in the car. I’m going to brave the washroom and clean myself up. Kyra had dirt and oil streaks on her arms, evidence of their grist-grilling effort in changing the blown tire a few hours earlier. The red burns spreading across Kyra’s shoulders looked as painful as Julianna’s felt.

Thanks, added Kyra as she turned to depart.

Whatever for?

Coming along for the ride. For what it’s worth, I think it’s rotten form on Christy’s part, talking you into coming without checking if the events company even had a third opening. I hardly know you and I seem more pissed by the whole thing than she does. Are you sure you’ll be ok when we get to LA?

It’s all good. When I rang Dad yesterday, he came through with a friend of his in Bakersfield. Seems they’re in the market for a French-fluent intern for the summer. Failing that, I can hitch to Paris now I know it’s in Texas, not France. Duh.

Well, like I said, if you hadn’t tagged along, I’d probably have killed her by now. There’s no way I could have changed that puncture and dealt with her histrionics by myself.

Julianna nodded. She really loves you, you know. All she could talk about all last semester was this trip with you. I know she’s hard work but she’s the real deal when it comes to her friends. Take it from someone who’s learned the hard way.

I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better back in Wellesley, replied Kyra. You seem like a totally cool person. You’re always quiet. You really must have your crap tied down when the rest of us are losing ours.

Julianna waved the cigarette about. Probably why I’m trying to tap into my inner bad girl. Go wash. I’ll watch the car til you get back.

Catch, Kyra alerted her, tossing a store pack of Lights to Julianna before retreating around the corner.

Julianna smiled. It had been the longest exchange—without Christy butting in—she and Kyra had enjoyed since setting out from Boston. In the last four days, Julianna had grown to like the girl even more so than she ever did Christy, her dizzy-headed college classmate for the last four years. Kyra had even cracked a half-smile at the Paris reference just now. Julianna looked at the fresh cigarette pack and regretted how, as in most cases, her jokes only came hot on the heels of her lies. They were her social camouflage, fig leaves to deflect attention from the naked guilt she was sure was apparent in her face whenever she served up such half-truths or worse.

Not that this one really mattered. Julianna wasn’t going to be around Kyra and Christy for much longer. They had all just graduated. Christy and Kyra had their summer arrangements made for when they got to LA and Julianna was running away—again. Well, that had been the plan; until she discovered how, somewhere between Indiana and Missouri, her father had frozen her credit card. The telephone call to him from St. Louis had been testy. As Jonathan Putnam no doubt slumped into his chair at his downtown Boston law office, he was made listen as his errant daughter argued her case with an assuredness which likely made him rue the gilt-edge education lavished on her.

Yes. She should have told him she had skipped town.

No. This wasn’t like last time. It was not a cry for help or another act of defiance. Twice in seven years hardly constituted acute recidivism, now did it? Anyway, she was 21. She could make her own choices now and better understand the reasons for them.

No. She was not going to get on one of the blasted trains he could hear in the background, but she would come home before the Fall if he would wire her enough money today to sustain her for one month when she reached the west coast.

Yes. That was a promise.

No. She wasn’t going to put him through anything like the drama of Dallas again. It had never been about him or Penny. He had to believe that. Could he please not cry now. Don’t… Dad, please.

No. She didn’t want his help in getting a summer job or anything else. It should reflect well on his parenting that she could advance and succeed on her own wits and merits, shouldn’t it?

Yes. She would call again from Los Angeles.

No. She did not want to speak to her mother.

Yes. She knew it was common knowledge the entire Diller family was bi-polar but she’d be shot of Christy soon enough.

After the call, Julianna remained in the Western Union, awaiting his cash wire. She seethed at this one particular play of her father, the emotional arm-twist to extract from her the promise of her return. Her father knew damn well how when Julianna made promises she kept them. So she rarely promised anyone anything. Now he had her. Julianna knew exactly who had suggested that strategy to him.

At about the same time back in Boston, her father took a small measure of comfort from the same assurance. He then took a large measure of his prized sixteen-year-old Lagavulin scotch and telephoned an old friend who pointedly told him to quit fretting. The friend reminded Jonathan that some battles couldn’t be won and some rivers couldn’t be dammed.

Julianna hopped off the tire pile and crushed the cigarette underfoot. As she started back to where Kyra's Rav4 mini-SUV was parked beneath the front canopy of the gas station, a banging sound from the highway made her turn.

She watched a yellow Ford Tempo roll to a dead stop out on the road. Steam billowed from its front grill. Through the heat haze and white plumes, she saw the indistinct figure of the driver contemplating his new predicament.

Another adventurer rolls into the Gas Station of Lost Souls—almost, she thought.

Breathes of burning air eddied about where Julianna now stood. Looking out, the impression she had of the stricken car was that the very atoms of it were being evaporated, one-by-one, by the searing light. She waited to see what the driver did next.

Suddenly, his head disappeared down behind the dash, staying hidden for what seemed a fretful length of time to Julianna. It was long enough that she considered braving the open ground, to see if he had merely passed out or actually passed away. She was on the verge of heading out when the driver jerked back upright. Julianna took a step backward, wary she might be considered rubbernecking. She really ought to check on Christy anyway.

Just then, the Tempo's door opened and the driver emerged. He scrambled his weight behind the frame in a punishing effort to push his car to the cover of the station. Beneath the open door, Julianna saw his sneakers biting into the ground, his ankles twisting to maintain his footing and resist the vehicle rolling back. He had about 40 feet to conquer and his grimaced expression didn’t bode well.

Julianna strode into the open. The heat beat on her exposed legs immediately. She marched past the driver and gripped the corner of his trunk. He turned and looked at her quizzically.

Save your breath until we get you up there, she hollered. Now move your ass!

They wrestled his car to the sanctuary of the canopy and the driver put it into park beside the nearest pump. Julianna joined him, her hand on her breast, breathing rapidly.

Whoa, she joked. Rescued by a wimpy woman. You’re never going to live this one down, Mister.

Panting, sweat cascading from his brow, Scott Jameson could only manage A-huh, as he collapsed against the side of his car.

Chapter 2

Scott propped his elbows on the roof of his car, watching his winsome rescuer as she rummaged in the footspace of her Rav4. He flexed his calves to alleviate the cooking sensation within them. He wanted to collapse into his seat but the compulsion to marvel at her striking form kept him standing. As she bent into the SUV, her tummy-tied sleeveless shirt rode up her waist and Scott’s gaze travelled the topography of her exposed midriff. The knuckles of her spine arched, like the nearby peaks of Sitgreaves Pass. Having appreciated both today, Scott decided her terrain was much the more commanding. He negotiated the sunkissed curving of her waist, let it lead him to the teasing of her taut white shorts, the perfect orbits of her hips and ass beneath. She stretched one long leg to adjust her stance, pencil-thin with a hint of calf, disappearing into the large green sneakers which swallowed her feet. A white bra-strap slipped suggestively from beneath the ragged shoulder of her shirt, and Scott’s wandering imagination was about to reposition on her North Face when she suddenly straightened from the Rav4. He ducked down and sat sideways onto his own driver seat, prayed she hadn’t caught him staring. She came round and kneeled beside him, beaming as she offered him a water bottle.

It’s warm but wet, she said.

Scott tried to suppress the juvenile grin this prompted.

Wha-aat? she drawled playfully, reading his mind anyway.

He gulped the bottle, a relief to his burning gizzards and an excuse for not answering.

What happened to you? she asked.

I think the fan belt seized. Started about four miles back. Didn’t imagine there was a gas stop in this hellhole, he explained, as he studied her up-close, ignoring the salty beads of sweat trickling from his thick brown bangs into his eyes. Her dark complexion was more than just suntanned, he could see that now. It spoke to heritage of a wilder hue, one Scott couldn’t put his finger on. But even it paled in comparison to the oil-slick luminescence of her raven-black hair. It was styled in a short blown-out bob, more a funky version of Monica than another of the endless Rachel-Wannabes. This was more than just fine with Scott.

Ow! Eyes, he suddenly yelped, screwing his lids shut as the stinging sweat kicked in.

Julianna removed one of her wristbands and soaked it from the bottle. Here. Let me. You’re all gritty. It’s a wonder you can see straight. Kneeling up, she put a hand on Scott’s shoulder and drew the wristband gently across his eyelids. It felt like frozen silk on his skin.

Why didn’t you hitch? she asked. I’m sure someone would have picked you up.

Dunno. It hadn’t given up then. I thought I least oughta see where I’d get to. Used all my water to get it this far.

Tenacity. That can be terminal in some people, she smiled.

Well, when it is, I’ll know not to make the same mistake again, he quipped.

She chuckled at his quick sarcasm. I’m Julianna.

Scott Jameson. They shook. So, Julianna…?

Putnam. Julianna with two ‘N’s. The spellchecker loves me.

Then you’re safe with me. I don’t know how to use a computer.

You’ll be a dinosaur soon enough then. Haven’t you even heard of the Net?

The college back in Albany has a site. Looks like another outlet for geeks and nerds to me.

So you’re from there?

No, Ithaca. How bout you?

Boston. Dover. On the west side.

You don’t sound like a Kennedy.

Few of us do. Julianna settled back on her haunches. North Carolina originally. I’m a mishmash. My parents died when I was small. I was adopted by the Putnams. Lived there ever since.

Jeez. I’m sorry, he sighed. That must’ve been hard. Do you remember them?

Not really. They died in a car crash. I can’t picture them properly. It’s probably for the best.

Well, I hope it worked out ok. I mean, s’not ideal but—ya know.

They’re good people. Jonathan—Dad—is a big financial lawyer. I never wanted. I’m luckier than most.

And your adopted Mom? Fairy godmother or evil stepmother?

Penny? Oh, neither. When the booze and Xanax kick in, she’s bearable. Julianna looked suddenly at Scott, her mouth aghast. "Oh my god. You did not need to hear that."

"Honesty. That’s always terminal in everybody." Scott grinned an ‘It’s cool’ assurance.

I’ve died a thousand deaths by now then, she said.

Are you heading to LA too?

Yes. With two friends. Kyra’s getting cleaned up. The body in the back—Julianna gestured to the Rav4’s open tail where one of Christy’s feet protruded—is Christy. We may yet bury her in a shallow grave off the highway: dead or alive. Julianna rolled her eyes.

Scott agreed, Yeah. Travelling solo has its compensations.

Why are you solo? she asked.

Well, he said, looking wistfully at his feet, to tell the truth, I bailed on my M-E program bout three weeks ago, just before my exams.

M-E?

Engineering. I graduated last year. Jumped straight into the masters. Guess I ain’t equipped to cut it. Haven’t gotten the nerve to tell my Dad just yet, so here I am.

I’m sorry, Scott. I’m sure he’ll understand. Julianna put a consoling hand on his arm.

Maybe. I dunno. I guess he’d just find it hard to learn that I’ve got… ya know… limitations. Or maybe how I was doing the wrong thing all along. Might blame himself for railroading me into it.

A good father would scoop his boy up and tell him he was proud of him, no matter what, she said. And a good son would never be afraid to admit his weaknesses and fears to him.

Scott nodded, still avoiding eye contact. Yeah, I guess you’re right.

There’s a little body shop round back, she said. I’m sure they’d have your car going in no time. Plus there’s a payphone inside. You could call your Dad. At least let him know you’re ok.

Yeah, it might be the thing to do, he puffed.

And then you’d have a choice. Onward west or homeward east. One of life’s true crossroads, to wherever it might lead.

They locked eyes. Hers were deepest brown, their cores as coal-black as her hair. Scott now noticed how close-set they were, unusually so for a girl. They made her long angular face a compelling study. Knowing he shouldn’t stare, still it seemed to him she didn’t mind.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked.

Julianna bit her lower lip. I’m not really the best person to take advice from.

He leaned closer. I’m just asking. If you were in my position, what would you do?

Honestly?

Sure. I’ll catch your lifeless body before it falls. Scott held his arms as a cradle. The hairs on them fizzled as, unexpectedly, Julianna grasped his hands in hers.

Honestly, she shrugged, go west. Go make every stupid mistake you can. Get it over and done with before it takes root and festers. Shake it out of your system. Then go home and settle down. Embrace normality and convention. And never look back.

He stiffened. Wow. Sounds like you’re talking from heavy experience.

No. She released his hands. Just perceived wisdom. I really don’t have any of my own to give. Sorry. She smiled apologetically.

That sounds like ‘Goodbye’ too, he sighed. But you’re right. I ought to let you get back to your friends. Scott rose from his seat and Julianna quickly gathered herself out of his way.

Are you gonna be ok, Scott?

Yeah, yeah. He nodded manfully. You’re right. It was stupid to come out here. The car’s not up to the trip. Maybe I’m not either. He glanced everywhere—anywhere—but where her attention was trying to catch his.

I don’t believe that for one instant. Maybe you just haven’t decided on what you want or expect to find at the end of the road. I really hope you don’t think that of yourself. Or that I think it of you.

He forced himself to look at her, offering his hand in parting. Thanks for helping me up here. I really appreciate it.

They shook awkwardly. Ok. Make sure you get that belt fixed, ok? she said. Get the tank filled and drive carefully.

I will. He released her hand, immediately feeling the pang of separation.

Ok. Reluctantly, Julianna walked toward the Rav4. Scott was still watching the desert as she stopped and turned.

Scott. Do you have enough cash?

He scrunched his eyes shut. Oh man.

She marched back and glowered her disbelief at him. You don’t, do you?

How’d you know?

I didn’t, til now. We’ve been talking for—like forever. You are wasted. You ought to be inside getting something to eat. I was hoping you’d buy me a soda. You’re supposed to buy me a soda. But you never moved from your seat the whole time.

I’m just getting my breath. He glanced sheepishly at the ground.

Really?

I was figuring out if I should phone Dad or my mentor back in Albany. I had enough change to do as much.

God! And then what? What were you going to do? Stand out on the road and beg?

I dunno. I woulda figured something out.

Why didn’t you just say? You could have asked, you know.

And said what? Start hitting you up for cash? You don’t even know me.

And you would have let me go? Gotten yourself stuck here? And I would never even have known that you were in this predicament. Julianna ploughed her fingers through her hair. How do you think I would have felt?

Scott pursed his lips. Well, you wouldn’t have known, wouldya? You would have been gone.

Which is what? She planted her hands on her hips and raised her head to confront him. Though she was considerably shorter than him—perhaps 5’3—she seemed to grow an entire foot taller. Or maybe he was shrinking under her scorching pique. You were trying to get rid of me?"

Eh. Yeah. No, I just mean I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.

Julianna paced on the spot, considering his excuse, never taking her arms from her hips. She looked down, watching her feet shift in their bright green sneakers. Finally, she shot him a withering stare.

Well, she announced, I reckon I saved your ass, which means you owe me. I own you now. So stop with the ‘burdening’ crap. I’m buying your silence on that score.

She unzipped the belly bag on her waist and found her wallet. The moment she produced two $100 bills, Scott shook his head steadfastly.

Stop it, she barked. It’s not a charity thing. It’s a trust thing. I give you this cash, it’s a good deed. You’ll get to LA in one piece so I won’t be worried for you. Whether or not you pay me back is up to you. You aren’t under any obligation to. If you do, I get the cash back and I still saved your life. If you don’t, I saved a life that’s forever tarnished as ungrateful. She softened this reprimand with a smile.

Reluctantly, Scott accepted the notes, holding them up, quietly willing her to reconsider.

Take them, she insisted. It’s a thing done.

How will I get a hold of you? Where are you staying in LA?

I don’t know, she confessed. I haven’t made any arrangements. I don’t even have a telephone number.

Well, that’s a big help to me.

She prodded his chest. ‘Well, do you know where you’ll be, Mister I’ve-Got-A-Quarter-For-A-Phone-Call?"

No, he shrugged. But haven’t you got a cell?

No way. Have you seen the price of those things? Do you?

No. I just thought—

Jonathan’s rich for a reason, Scott. Don’t mistake my generosity for his profligacy.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.

I know. I’m sorry I snapped. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… She squished her face, concentrating.

Scott watched the way her lower lip disappeared into the pensive grip of her teeth, her eyes drifting back and forth, increasingly pausing on his as they passed. She murmured to herself, When I get settled, I’ll need to let you know my telephone number. How to? How to? Her voice trailed off, the moment suddenly shattered by her yell so shrill it made Scott take a step back. Eeee! I know. Yah-Me! I’ll leave my number somewhere safe for you to find it.

In Los Angeles? he laughed. It’s kinda a big place. I don’t know anyone there. Do you?

Actually yes. Do you know Merle Oberon?

Who’s he?

Not he. She. She’s—was—an actress. I really love her. She died a few years ago. She’s buried in LA. I don’t know where exactly but definitely in the city. I saw a documentary on her on PBS.

Not in any shape to pass on a message then, is she?

Speak well of the dead, Mister. She has a grave, right? It’s a location we could both find separately.

So you’re gonna leave a note under a rock in the middle of her grave?

No. I’m sure someone would find it and toss it. She’s very famous, probably got fans always fixing up her plot, you know, just like those people you see shining the stars on the sidewalks. They’d think it was just trash.

What then?

Well, a note wouldn’t work. But the rock by itself might. Look at these.

She foraged in her belly bag and produced a neat leather pouch. She undid the tie, itself a length of leather cord, and extracted a small stone.

What’s this? Scott asked, accepting it from her.

Navajo fetish stones, from a craft store we stopped at in Seligman. They’re so beautiful, the bag too. The lady explained what the markings mean. I think this one—Julianna spread his hand open and flipped the stone right-side-up in his palm, revealing a delicate etching on its face—is for prosperity. Good hunting and all that.

As she turned the image to herself, Scott felt the tips of her fingers charge his skin where they touched.

How appropriate, she giggled. You better hang onto it. You’ll need it to recognize the others.

The stone in Scott’s hand was disc-like, about the size of a quarter. It was bulbous at its center, flattening to a roughly-finished edge around the rim. Dark tan in color, the intricate symbol scored into it was emphasized by the bright mustard lines carefully painted inside its fine grooves. The symbol itself comprised of a pair of close-set parallel lines, broken at matching intervals by a single dot each, three breaks in all.

Is it Morse code? he asked.

They’re deer tracks.

Heap um small deer, he joked.

She swatted his chest. Be respectful, paleface. This is from a culture older than the pyramids. You’re gonna put a juju on this.

Sorry. You said ‘others’.

Yup. She emptied several similar stones into her own hand.

Scott said, So what’s the plan, Pocaha— Julianna glowered and, wisely, he cut himself off.

It’s simple, Julianna began. A telephone number has seven digits, right?

Scott nodded.

So, when I get my bearings in LA and—specifically—a phone number where you can reach me, I find out which cemetery Merle Oberon’s grave is in. That’s something you can do at your end too. Voilà, we have common ground. That’s step one. So far so good.

And step number two?

I take the remaining stones and place each strategically on other graves in the same cemetery.

Strategically?

Keep up, Mister Engineer. Graves have headstones, right? What do headstones have on them?

Names. Dates. Numbers. Ok, lots of digits. I follow ya.

That’s what you’re supposed to do. A single one of these won’t look out of place on a grave. No one’s gonna mess with it. These are easy to spot. Say I put them… bottom-left corner of the plot.

Not so hidden I won’t see em, he suggested.

Well, sure. Discrete enough so no one else will notice them. Only you—she brushed her finger teasingly across the tip of his nose—will be expecting them. You can find them quickly enough before they ever get disturbed.

So, Scott continued, I find the stones. Then what?

Ahhh, she gasped, "here’s the masterstroke. One stone per grave. The grave where you find it will give you a number from the headstone. The number on the headstone will be a number from my telephone number. I’ll place them to correspond. Seven stones. Seven graves. Seven digits. One telephone number. I’m a genius! Thank you. Thank you. You’re all much too kind!"

Scott was hesitant to share her enthusiasm. He wanted to argue how the whole thing sounded quite lame, a very convoluted solution to a very simple problem. They could just make an arrangement to meet at some agreed time at some well-known landmark in LA, couldn’t they? Such as… well, there was the problem. Nothing suitable sprung to mind right then. He was sure that was just an effect of the heat. And her. And she was still talking! He snapped back to her patter.

—they’re all movie stars so I’m sure the graves must be mega-normous. There can’t be that many in a single cemetery.

No. No, he muttered, playing conversational catch-up. I mean. Seven little stones. Should be a cake walk. Which number?

What? she snapped.

On the headstones. What part of the date are you gonna use?

Oh. She thought for a second. Let’s keep it simple. The very first number written on the headstone. Whatever is the first digit that you encounter as you read it.

Scott squinted one eye shut, evaluating her logic, his head tilting left-right as he worked it through. When he opened his eye, his smirk had a knowing smugness. Hmm. I bet I can guess your phone number. Right here, right now, he declared.

How could you? she asked, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Even I don’t know it yet.

It’s 1-1-1, 1-1-1-1. He fisted her shoulder playfully.

That’s not a telephone number. In LA, don’t they all start with 5-5-5 or something? She returned the push, firmer.

Only in the movies. What’s usually on a person’s headstone, Einstein?

Err. Their name. And then some dates: born-on, died-on, sometimes the age but always the other two. We’re using the year part. I’m trying to keep this simple for the intended audience. She jutted her chin out defiantly.

And? Scott lowered his head, challenging her to figure out the flaw.

And? What? She touched her forehead to his in combat-joined.

And when are most people born, Julianna-with-two-Ns?

"On their birthdays, Scott-with-no-end-to-all-his-complicating-this."

It was much too good a comeback and Scott leaned back, laughing heartily. She put her hands on his shoulders and joined him as they howled at their mutual silliness. Her laugh was deep, a bawdy cocktail of gasoline and champagne which intoxicated Scott as it washed over him.

Oh boy, I kill me, she hooted, wiping away tears with the ball of her palm.

Ok, Scott continued. I meant, when you look at the first digit in the year that most people in a graveyard were born on, what’re you most likely to see? The very first number? He held up one forefinger to clue her in.

Oh. Realization dawned on Julianna. She put her finger to her mouth but couldn’t suppress a final chuckle.

Yeah, he nodded. Everyone will have been born in the 20th Century—or earlier—but all will be in One-Something-Yada-Yada. You’ll get the same first number on every single one.

Gotcha, she mouthed silently.

How about, Scott suggested, instead of the first number, use the last, from the year they died. All bounda be different, right? So 1997 gets you a 7, et-cet-era, et-cet-era.

Ok, Yogi.

Scott restated the plan, much more enamored of it now he had perfected it. Ok. So, Pearl Oberon. Wherever she’s buried. You place the stones on certain graves where the last number of the year they died coincides with a digit from your telephone number. I find the stones, put the numbers together. I give you a call. You get your 200 bucks back.

"Merle Oberon, she corrected. And you can pay me back the difference after you buy me that soda—if you want to. Hey, will you do me a favor and bring the stones back? They are special. I don’t much go in for souvenirs but this is my first time out west. I’d like the keepsake."

Of course. I’ll keep this one, he said, clenching the single stone in his fist. You have your seven to prepare your treasure hunt with, yeah?

Julianna counted the remaining stones. Oh no. There’s only six here. This isn’t enough.

Here. He offered his back. I think I can remember what they look like.

No! she snapped, abrupt enough to startle him. It’s not fair. She directed a plea skyward. Why couldn’t there be eight? It’s as many as I’d need.

Julianna, Scott tried to reassure her, take this one. I won’t need it. Honestly. Committed to memory. He tapped his head.

No, Scott. My thought was to give you it. I want you to have it. I guess it means you’re meant to have it. I know it sounds pretty kooky. Sorry. Guess I’m just an old mystic at heart.

Well, that still leaves you one short.

No. It just means the number seven picks itself. Somewhere in the mix it has to be there. She didn’t sound entirely convinced herself but she hoped he would miss that.

And if it doesn’t? There was no trace of male smugness in his tone now.

It has to. Otherwise… She took his fist and clasped it within her own hands, an irrevocable transfer of the first stone. She couldn’t believe how she felt like crying. God I’m so lame, she thought. She said, Otherwise, you’re 200 bucks to the good and you’ve had a lucky escape from the mad Indian pebble woman of Arizona. Her laugh was tinged with a brave acceptance of a possible bad end.

You can count on me, Scott swore. And lucky seven. I’d be burned bones here by the end of the week if you hadn’t helped me, a total stranger. I promise, I’ll repay you the—

Julianna stepped forward, quickly cancelling the space between them. Her body eased up, rising against his as she stretched high as her tippy-toes allowed. She speared her outstretched arms either side of him, her elbows leaning on his broad shoulders. Behind his head, she brought her palms together and spread her touching fingers to a five-pointed star to watch over him. She didn’t dare clasp them. She knew she would be lost if she locked herself to him. She knew if she allowed her fingers to find his neck, her arms to encircle it, it would bind her to this moment forever and to him, whom she might never see again. So she simply kissed him. Like a gentle swell rippling and dancing over the ribboned sands of a shallow shore, her lips caressed his, nothing more. One kiss, or more accurately, the allusion to the illusion of a kiss.

She pulled back and waited. It took Scott a moment to realize she was done and open his eyes. His mouth was still agape so she smiled for them both.

I know you will. I don’t have any doubts about you, she grinned.

Her giddy infection was breaking out on his face now. Neither do I. But I may be lapsing. How about a proper kiss to bolster me? He made a knee-buckling gesture and she slapped him on his head as he stumbled about for comic effect. The truth was that he was giddy-headed. His heart purred in an adrenaline haze and his ears burned with a blood-heat hotter than a thousand Arizona days. Humor and cliché were always his defenses when he felt this way.

"Ow! Ow! Pain and pleasure. Is there no end to your talents? Stop. Stop, please," he pleaded.

Their giggles subsided as Kyra reappeared from the washroom. Hello? Kyra said, her statement as much a query to Julianna as a welcome to the newcomer.

Kyra, this is Scott. Julianna seized Scott’s arm and eagerly presented him for Kyra’s inspection. Scott rolled up with some car trouble and I was just making sure everything was ok. He’s from back east too.

Kyra accepted Scott’s outstretched hand and shook it. Boston? she asked.

No, Ithaca, Scott replied.

Kyra turned to Julianna. We really ought to be going.

Can’t we swap him for Christy? Julianna joked. That tire still looks iffy. Please Mom! Can we? Can we? Can we?

Kyra scrunched her mouth. Ok. Heatstroke. Fine. Let’s wake Chick Little and make tracks. Nice meeting you, Scott from Ithaca.

She gripped Julianna’s elbow and chaperoned her toward the Rav4. Julianna backpedalled and, as Kyra dragged her away, made a ‘telephone’ gesture against her ear for Scott’s benefit.

Call me! her lips worded.

Scott watched them pack up and pull away before staggering to the store to escape the heat; his head reporting that his legs no longer worked but his heart no longer caring.

Chapter 3

2005 - Boston

Emerson Avenue, Peabody

Monday August 22

Scott sat in his BMW and looked out at the storm. The heavy shower had begun as he left work, and here in his neighborhood, it was in full flow. The suburban street lights meshed with the last hue of day, giving the avenue a pallor of fishscale silver, sharpened by the slick film of rain.

A little before Ten, it made no sense to be parked up, mere moments from his own house. Scott wondered why he had even returned to Peabody. He had a 6am meeting back at the office the next morning—‘Ugly o’clock’, Julianna called it. Now he regretted not checking into a hotel downtown, texting Jules to inform her that he couldn’t come home, and simply crashing.

But it wouldn’t have been so simple, right? Working late, which was his accepted routine these many months, that was one thing. But to make the progression—Regression. Let’s call it what it is, man—to an all-nighter? Scott knew—just knew—it would be an escalation in their stand-off, one bound to elicit a reply from Julianna, no matter she accepted his explanation. Even if she didn’t make an outright comment about the significance of his first ‘stay away’, the implication of it would not be lost on Scott. It was not a step he was ready to take—yet. Bad enough to sleep alone under his own roof, at least the walls were still on speaking terms with him.

Not that Scott expected much rest tonight. The meeting to come was a big deal. Sandstorm Engineering, among the most prestigious construction consulting outfits in New England, was about to have a visitor; and not just any visitor but their biggest cash cow—Thomas Sanders, one of the wealthiest men in the state. In Scott’s five years with Sandstorm, he had personally overseen three Sanders projects, netting the firm over 70 million dollars in fees. Yet in all that time, neither Scott nor anyone outside the Directors’ circle could lay claim to having ever met the man. Scott didn’t even know what Sanders looked like, and though he strived to keep up on matters affecting his work, he couldn’t ever recall seeing a photograph of Sanders—not in the Globe’s social, metro, or business sections or in any of the trade publications which constantly circulated the office.

One time, Scott dared to google Sanders: 1,800 hits—all business, nothing personal, not one image. When Sarah Parales, a PA to one of the directors, saw Scott snooping, she joked how Sanders would probably get a notification of Scott’s inquiry sent directly to his desk. She teased Scott to be on the lookout for men-in-black, with ear-pieces and cuff-mics, their dark SUVs shadowing Scott on his ride home. Scott took it, for the most part, to be the good-natured joke he hoped she meant. Still, he deleted his browser history when Sarah had walked away.

That Sanders was coming was cause enough for Scott to be on guard; but any client bankrolling $400 million in an upcoming project had every right to demand a sit-rep. No, what niggled Scott was knowing, by way of Operations Director Andy Finkerman, that Sanders had specifically requested Scott be the one to deliver it. All joking aside, Scott had counted five suspect SUVs on the way home tonight.

Mister Sanders is looking forward to finally making your acquaintance, Finkerman told Scott, with a wry mix of pity and jealousy, as Finkerman briefed Scott’s team earlier in the day.

On the eve of the most important meeting of his life, Scott sat in his car and procrastinated going home. The meeting was happening but he was ready. Scott would finally get to meet the ‘Dark Sith Lord of Sandstorm’. It should have been a cause to rush home and excitedly tell his wife. It would have been, once upon a time. Now Scott experienced only the usual trepidation about how he and Julianna would be when he arrived home: the mostly silences, the occasional argument, the no-mans-land of edgy politeness as a livable compromise. Pathetically, it was so routine now, Scott no longer considered it worth sweating over.

When the dash clock turned 9:59pm, Scott started the BMW and pulled away. He drove slowly. Without fail, his daily disconsolate mood was complete, as he pulled into his own drive at the end of Emerson Avenue exactly 60 seconds later.

In the dark hallway, Scott ran his fingers through his rain-greased hair, wiping his damp hand on his pants leg. The storm’s heavy patter hummed against the stillness of the house. Slipping the wet jacket from his shoulders, he gazed upstairs and called out.

Jules?

No answer.

He entered the unlit kitchen and dialed the ceiling spots to full illumination. Sharp light flooded into every corner of the large space. From one of the cabinets flanking the colonial cooker, he pulled a hand-towel, shook it open, and patted himself down.

Jules? he repeated.

Only silence shrugged back at him. Outside, the rain ‘hmmed’, none the wiser.

The microwave was empty: no plate waited. That was unusual. Maybe she was upstairs, dozing by her ‘picture’ window. The previous owners of the house had remodeled the entire rear of the upper floor, swapping out the conventional windows of the two back bedrooms and their connecting bathroom for a series of almost-floor-to-ceiling column-style skinny windows. They looked down on the unspoiled views behind Emerson Avenue, especially the panoramic vista of Cedar Grove cemetery and The Meadow golf course beyond. On the two rear corners of the second storey, the end windows were special—two-piece glass wrap-arounds—and standing there gave the feeling of being in a skyscraper, not a typical suburban house.

What’s it called? Scott asked on their first visit with the realtor, trying to place the style of the arrangement.

It’s called glass, Jules joked. It’s how the light gets in.

When they finally bought the place in late 2000, Julianna immediately installed chaise-longues at each corner’s spectacular outlook. The far guest room quickly became her favorite chill-out zone, its east-facing view closest to Spring Pond and the cemetery behind it.

You better make the most of it, Scott warned her, since that view alone cost us an extra forty K.

So she did—and how. They had barely unpacked when Julianna handed Scott a permanent black marker and made him sign the bottom-right corner of that window, flatpalming all his questions as to her purpose. Duly silenced, Scott bent down and, with difficulty, scrawled his signature as best he could.

Ok, are you going to tell me why I have just permanently defaced the best window in the house with the worst possible rendition of my signature? he griped.

Wait and see, she teased.

The next evening, she led him back to the window, where Scott found the following added above his name, in her much-more-elegant-than-his hand.

"So large his bounty, her soul so sincere.

two score millennia did not seem too dear!"

An original work by

Scott Jameson

Think of it as though I bought you a unique piece of art. Cost me 40,000 bucks but I’m sure you agree it was money well spent. Happy Birthday, my Man, she trumped.

That’s just the most fragrant example of me-gifting I have ever seen, he groaned.

Reviews for Misisipi

[star95011 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

great book

[melissars-2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I was a bit unsure if I was going to like the book, but once I got past the first couple chapters I was hooked. I did feel that there were a few parts that could have been cut from the story, just to make things move along faster, but I really enjoyed it. I really liked it when the story jumped to Julianna's point of view. In a way I was sort of reminded of Gone Girl. I look forward to reading more from this author in the future.

[tmacd-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was nothing that I expected. The beginning was a bit confusing but once I got the hang of how the author wrote, I enjoyed the different style and theme. This book kept my interest the whole time and had a few unexpected twists and turns. It is an easy and fast read with lots of action and suspense. I enjoyed it immensely and recommend it to others to read!

[jome-19 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Like a previous review I did try to like this book but I struggled with it and in the end I gave up. I was waiting for it to grip me but it seemed to ramble on jumping from date to date forward and back. There was also some parts in it that were almost like a script leaving the reader guessing as to who was talking. Sorry but I don't think it flowed well at all so I only gave it 2 stars.

[kimsmyth · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Fast paced book that will surprise you up until the very end. If you are looking for a novel with suspense in a Hitcock kind of way, this is the book for you. Looking forward to the next book from this author.

[mrsbaty · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An absolutely gripping story! So many twists and turns and Hurricane Katrina all wrapped up into one. When Scott comes home after work and finds that his wife is gone, he sets out to find her and gets involved in a story and a history he couldn't have ever imagined. It is essentially a New Orleans story and it kept me intrigued from start to finish.While I did love this story, there are a couple of things I didn't love. At the beginning, a lot of flashbacks are used and not always in order. I don't care for that type of writing. Also, the sex and violence are far to graphic for me to recommend this to any of my circle of friends. If those things do not bother you, this is a great thriller and it's hard to believe that it is a debut novel.I received this through a librarything giveaway and I appreciated the opportunity to read and review it.

[cindyholdmann · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a wonderfully written tale of fantastic proportions. What you think starts out as a love story becomes so much more. Julianna and Scott are the two main characters and there comes a time when she must leave. Scott doesn't understand but all will be revealed in this spellbinding book of murder lies deceit and so much more. The characters flow through the book as smooth as butter and the plot will have you guessing at every turn. A truly remarkable tale.

[needtoreadgottowatch · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Misisipi by Michael Reilly is a romance mixed with mystery, murder and global issues. It is a work of fiction based on recorded historical events.Reader discretion is advised.PLOTIt is 1997. A hot summer's day in Arizona and three girls are stopped at a gas station, trying to fix their car. They've come all the way from Boston, aiming for LA. Julianna Putnam is twenty-one. She's just graduated and wants to get away from home, from her adoptive parents. While the other girls are occupied, Julianna notices a young man struggling with his car a little ways off. Turns out they're not the only ones with car trouble. She gives him a hand and the two immediately hit it off. Scott Jameson is also running away. An engineering graduate, he bailed before his Masters exams. He hasn't told his father yet, and is standing at the metaphorical crossroads between home and LA when he meets Julianna. She discovers he's stone-cold broke and lends him enough to get him the rest of the way. Scott wants to pay her back (not just for her generosity, but so he can see her again). With no cellphone and no other contact number until she reaches LA, she has to think of a way to get it to him once she has one. The two devise a plan- a place she can leave a message in LA, so that he can get in touch with her, using Navajo fetish stones- Native American carved stones with special meanings. Cut to Boston, 2005. August 22nd. Julianna and Scott are married, but not happily. There's a lack of communication that stems from their past and Julianna's- though Scott isn't aware of that. They rarely see each other. Then one day, Scott comes home from work and finds her gone, leaving nothing but a one-line note for him. She hasn't left any indication of why or where she's gone, but Scott won't give her up that easily. Following whatever leads he can, he sets off on a journey- one that will take him across the States. As he heads further south, Katrina builds offshore. She's not the only one hounding him. Julianna's past is a dark place, and for the first time in decades, the lights are flickering on, revealing everything little by little to the confused, distressed Scott. REVIEWThe story is told in alternating segments between 1997, LA and Scott is 2005- as he races across the country. What starts off as a switch between the new, lovestruck couple and the present, 2005 one, quickly becomes a murder mystery and thriller. The story has a tendency to switch through various genres at the turn of a hat. It starts off as romance, then thriller, then murder mystery, then survival, and somewhere along the way they all blend together. It may sound disjointed, but it works. I wouldn't say they switch seamlessly, but for the most part I see it more like Scott's journey. As he enters the new terrain of a different State or district, we enter a new genre. It can be a little jarring because it's unfamiliar, but you get used to it pretty quickly. The more changes there are, the less you notice them. What starts off as a light-hearted story, slowly slides through the spectrum, picking up speed before hurtling into the dark.The pace starts of slow, but builds like the winds of Katrina. Slowly, gradually, until the end is a fast-paced, tension-filled ride that comes at you full force. For a lot of the story, confusion is ever-present. From Scott's POV, we know exactly what he does- nothing. He knows as little of Julianna's past as we do. So why he's hunted, why she left, where she went, who the big players are, are all a mystery to us, which can make certain points hard to follow sometimes, but it does get tied up at the end. There is a lot going on in this story, but stick with it and it'll all make sense eventually.There's also a little backtracking in the second half. Not the flashbacks to 1997 that we're used to, but to Julianna, just before she leaves. Her part is mainly exposition designed to fill in the numerous gaps, but it doesn't feel too drawn out. This is a longer book (at almost 500 kindle pages), so some places can drag a little, but the payoff is worth it.There's quite a few issues incorporated into this book. Some environmental, some forces of nature and some the result of mankind. The focus is very much on the damage they cause, both to the planet, society and to individuals. On the pain and grief left behind. As I stated earlier, all the characters are fictitious, but some of the events are real. Hurricane Katrina for one, and though the characters themselves don't exist, I'm sure their basic stories were some actual person's. Hundreds, thousands of actual persons'. Books based on true events can be in bad taste, but here it is done well. It's respectful, it's factual and it's a dark reality. This is a story of loss- in it's many different forms. It's an emotional hurricane to match the real thing. This book is the entire collection of the Misisipi stories. They were released separately (though they are the same story, same continuation), and once the story was finished, they were collected together in this book. It's like books with different acts. The only reason I mention it is because at the start of each new book, we get an illustration of a Navajo stone and its meaning. They foreshadow the events about to occur. The characters are well-written and all have their moments. They're so 'real' sometimes that there's times you berate the good guys and sympathise with the bad. Everyone has a story. Everyone has a reason. The reason itself may be worthless, poor or nonsensical, but it can fuel good people to do bad things and bad people to do good. A story that could only ever have one ending. The fiction is perfectly blended with the factual, right down to the grief and loss. It's a story that won't let go. A slow boil that will rise up in your heart, long after the inevitability dawns. The tension is almost painful in its brutality. It will rip through you, leaving you desperate to know, to not know. The main plot is ultimately irrelevant. No matter the choices we make, the things we did or didn't do, the end comes to everyone in some form or other. But we must never forget, never not take comfort in this: whenever there is an end, there is always a beginning to follow it. This book will wrench both your heart and gut. For a little while is may even break something, but everything broken has the potential to be fixed. Maybe not the way we want, or even need, but enough to keep us moving.Beware: If you do read this book, you may need some time to recover afterwards. Once you do, you'll want to read it all over again. Moral of the story? Appreciate what you've got before it's gone. Disclaimer: I received this book from the author. This is not a sponsored review. All opinions are 100% my own.

[lost_lenore · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really liked this book.It's filled with mystery and action and it's written with a simple yet clever way. I want to read more from this author.

[awolfe_40 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I tried very hard to like this book, and in many ways I did. But I was just unable to finish. Parts of the story were very interesting and caught my attention, while others lagged. While I read almost to the end, I was just not able to finish. After the fourth or fifth segway I am calling it quits. Others will love it but me, not so much. This was an ebook win. It is the story of a man trying to find his wife who has gone missing and what all he meets along the way. I stopped about mid way during the storm, Katrina.

[marnigreatrex · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this book even though it was a bit of a struggle to get through, the beginning took a while to adjust to the past and present stories being told, the middle took a turn that had me wondering if i wanted to continue, but kind of got hooked on the mystery that was unfolding, slowly the author reveals some secrets and just as you think things are coming together, you get switched to another perspective of the situation and timeline that perverts everything you thought you already knew or figured out. Clever and compelling, and a tad frustrating at times, but I am glad that i didn't give up.