By A Silken Thread: Psychic Slueths Book 1

By MK Mancos

On an ice-encrusted road in New Jersey, Tara Johanan loses control of her car and drives off an embankment. At the same moment in Palmetto Springs, Florida, in an unwitnessed attack, Charlotte Durand is shot in the head and left for dead. Both women die. Both return. But near-death experiences are not always straightforward. Tara woke with the voice and memories of a comatose woman in her head. And she can remember a shooting she never witnessed.

Telling the family a loved one is the victim of a violent crime is the worst part of the job for Detective Marcus Danforth. When his stepsister is the victim, and the loved ones his family and best friend, it's crippling. He'll do anything to uncover the mystery of Charlotte's shooting.

Believing the story of a beautiful accident victim may be too much for him - even in the face of overwhelming desire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystic Kat Press
• Release date: Feb 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393919537

Book preview

Prologue

Deer Creek, New Jersey

February 22nd

Tara Johanan looked down at her broken body, disconnected from the scene. Flashing lights from emergency vehicles lit the night. Bare trees, cocooned in ice, caught the reds and blues and sent them flashing back, turning the accident scene into what looked like a macabre dance party.

Radios crackled with static. Police and paramedics shouted orders to one another in a mishmash of medical and law enforcement jargon. In other words, a language completely foreign to her ears.

Their valiant efforts were wasted. Couldn’t they see that? They shouldn’t be out on a night like this, especially when she was already dead. With the amount of blood coming up the plastic tube they’d shoved down her throat, how did they expect her to survive? And that glazed look in her eyes? If that didn’t just scream death.

Give it up, will you? The words rumbled through her essence but she lacked the physical body for vocalization.

Weightless, Tara floated up beyond the canopy of trees. The freezing rain no longer stung her skin. Wind no longer cut through her clothing. Sensations ceased, but emotional reactions amplified. Contentedness spread through her limbs.

So, this is what it’s like to die? Not bad. Not the Big Scary everyone freaks out about.

Life had always been much more terrifying than dead. Life was where pain and heartache happened. Death was beyond such human emotions. None of the things she hated about herself mattered.

Not even the horrible fight in the hospital ER with her best friend, Julianne, seemed all that important now. The accusation had stung, but it had been completely true.

Julianne been right. Tara knew nothing about relationships—not having had one that lasted past a first date—and should not be giving advice. The angry words had seemed important and eviscerating when Tara had fled the hospital in the middle of an ice storm. Now, they just seemed petty, small, and unimportant.

Floating above the scene, Tara studied the broken guardrail where her car left the road and plunged down the ravine. In the middle of the pavement lay a deer with his ass blown out from the force of impact.

Taking a peek back at the rescue squad, it didn’t appear she had fared much better. The paramedics pounded on her chest a violent attempt to bring her back to life.

Man, that’s gotta hurt.

But it didn’t. It was invigorating. Liberating. Charismatic. The English language didn’t contain enough words to express how wonderful it felt to leave one’s cares and earthly body behind.

A sigh began at the center of her ethereal body, shimmering out along the edges. Above her, a pinpoint of light began to expand like a large gapping mouth. The maw swallowed her whole.

She fell.

Tara jerked awake and looked around.

Grasses, tall and green, swayed above her supine body. She rose on what could pass as elbows to a non-corporeal life-form. She looked down and noted she appeared the same, but slightly less substantial. As if her body was made from light particles instead of flesh and blood.

The scene around her was serene. Perfect. The most beautiful place from her memory.

Sun beat down on her, yet no heat penetrated her being. Nor did the celestial breeze that ruffled the grass leave an impression along her arms. Leaves fluttered on a large oak tree, but no rustling sound lilted down to her.

Dots of bright light speckled the landscape. Some were grouped in clusters. Others hovered along, parallel to the ground. None moved within range of Tara. She had no idea what they were, nor did she feel compelled to investigate at the time.

What she really wanted to do was spin.

---

Palmetto Springs, Florida

Same Night. Same Time.

---

Death surrounded Charlotte Durand.

It wasn’t something she cared to dwell on but was an unmerciful part of her profession. As an emergency pediatrician, she saw death in all its many faces, but she’d never had to deal with one so close to home. Since she’d pronounced her ex-lover’s son dead two weeks before, nothing had gone right. A constant black cloud had descended over every aspect of her life.

The bridal shop had called to inform her the dress she ordered had been discontinued. The caterer had suddenly gone bankrupt, and she’d bounced the mortgage check. Intellectually, she realized Kyle’s death had nothing to do with her bad fortune, but disaster tailed her like paparazzi to a starlet.

She sighed and turned the car radio up a little louder, hoping to drown out the memory of the toddler’s little body rigid from the electrical shock that caused his heart to stop. The beat-box whoompa woob of the hip-hop tune did not fit her mood. She tuned to a station that played only old Southern Rock. Molly Hatchet yelled something about flirting with disaster.

Even the radio stations showed no mercy.

She laughed to stifle the pain and started to sing along.

It didn’t help to dwell on the tragedies that unfolded every day in the hospital. If she did, she would have quit medical school years ago. Doctors had to learn to divorce themselves from situations while maintaining a compassionate and caring manner. It was a fine line between apathy and empathy, but it was one Charlotte chose to walk.

Tonight, Kyle’s mother, Rebecca, stopped by the ER to see Charlotte. And Charlotte had been hard pressed to help the woman, but did give her the name and number of a grief counselor.

How bizarre that her ex-lover, Ray’s, ex-wife would come to Charlotte for help. Hadn’t Rebecca’s teary eyes accused Charlotte of not doing enough the night Kyle died?

Enough. She said the word out loud, hoping to chase the blackness away. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. What was wrong with her tonight? Usually things didn’t depress her for more than a few moments at a time. Tonight, she couldn’t seem to cut loose the negative feelings. Maybe if she thought about the wedding.

Her forthcoming nuptials to Gil always made her happy, but the way that was shaping up, she would only have to face more frustrations. All day long she’d entertained the idea of asking Gil if he wanted to get the marriage license and have a judge perform the ceremony in chambers before leaving the courthouse. It would sure save on heartburn and headaches. She did have a day off coming the day after tomorrow.

She turned down the ink-black back road, taking the shortcut home. Lights in her rearview mirror blinded her. She blinked and flipped the mirror up as the car sped up beside her.

Probably teenagers out joyriding. She dismissed the thought out of hand as the car started to pass her.

As she turned to look, the passenger window rolled down and the driver lifted an arm as if pointing.

What the… She didn’t finish the sentence. Her driver’s side window exploded inward.

Pain registered for only a millisecond as the blood began to run into her eyes. Her hands left the wheel, no longer obeying her commands.

Her car headed straight for a light pole.

Charlotte watched in horror as she sped closer to it. Her feet disregarded her orders to brake. Fear squeezed her heart as her car struck the pole and the lights in the neighborhood went black.

The last sound Charlotte heard was the squeal of tires as the assailant pulled away, leaving her in a pool of her own blood.

The once beautiful glow of life drained out in a steady stream down the front of Charlotte’s trench coat. For a moment, she didn’t know how it was possible to be both victim and spectator to the scene. Panic escalated. This was not the way she had envisioned her death. Not like this! There was still so much to do. She was getting married to the love of her life.

That was it! She needed Gil to help her. They didn’t live too far away.

Time and space whirled and merged. Charlotte floated above Gil in the living room of the antebellum house they had bought from his grandmother and painstakingly restored. He was half reading a sports magazine, half watching the news.

He’s so beautiful. Taking a closer look, he had a glow about him, a corona radiating from his body. Charlotte tilted her head to the side as faceted energy covered Gil. Warmth spread through her. The light came from his aura. She could have watched him forever, but time wasn’t a luxury she could afford.

Gil, she said. To her surprise no words came out. The only thing she heard was the thoughts inside her own consciousness. Words without voices. She felt the thoughts. In her mind, she repeated the phrase, help me, until he began to look around the room, in search of a draft. He shivered once, then got off the couch and closed the open window. It was no use. He couldn’t hear her. She couldn’t communicate with him.

No! She refused to let someone get away with murdering her. There had to be another way to get his attention.

An insistent tugging lifted her as she moved away from the life she had known. Lights and colors became one with each other. She was too upset to enjoy the beautiful display of energy as it passed around her. A warm, loving calm infused her, yet she fought that, too.

How could she be comforted when everything she was had been extinguished? She had to find a way back to herself.

Hurtling faster and faster through space, the journey ended in a large open field. She floated past a cottage with a white picket fence that reminded her of her grandmother’s Kentucky farm.

The sound of a child’s laughter caught her attention. It wasn’t sound as she knew before, but an echoing inside her soul, plucking the strings of her heart like a well-tuned viola. Turning her attention towards the sound, a tawny-haired boy played in the sunlight, kicking a ball then running after it. Kyle! Ray’s son. The young boy turned and smiled knowingly at Charlotte then faded away.

Somebody help me. She sent the message out through her mind, hoping a heavenly being would hear and come to her rescue.

From her periphery, the image of a young woman spun and laughed with such abandon she had to be an angel. She had light brown hair and was slender built. Her form was solid, yet not. It must be an impression of how she had looked in life.

Charlotte was instantly drawn to her. The woman looked so happy, playing in the tall grasses. This person belonged in the afterlife. Maybe she knew some secret to get Charlotte back into her body.

To Charlotte’s astonishment, they looked similiar in features. She looked so content. Could it have been a vision of what should be?

You have to help me. I need to get back.

The woman gazed at Charlotte. A shimmer of confusion moved around the edges of her essence.

Why would you want to go back?

No, you don’t understand! There were no witnesses. The police won’t be able to find out who killed me. It was so dark…I don’t know who…I think, but I can’t be sure.

They’ll find out. Even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter to you now.

Despair seeped in to fill all the voids where happiness should have been. No one could help her. She was stuck here with no link to the living world. What would happen to Gil? How could he go on now that she was dead? He had no way to know who killed her.

Light coalesced before them, sending beams upward and outward. The center turned opaque, forming a figure. Arms outstretched in offering, the being enfolded Charlotte in love. Despair melted away, replaced by peacefulness. The empyrean being was like nothing she had ever imagined. Surely this was a real angel. Bathed in the light of wisdom and love, her features were hazy, yet Charlotte could make out long curls of light. Her eyes were radiant pools of blue, like the oceans of the Earth. The pseudo-skin on her face appeared iridescent and the only words Charlotte could think of to describe her were pure energy.

Images of her life and everything that had happened to her since birth flooded her mind. The lake of memories surrounded her, and she became submerged. All the pain and sorrow felt by others she had known came to rest in her heart, along with all the joy, triumph, and love. It was an eternity of emotions released by the simple act of merging with the being.

Charlotte’s soul shook and melted. Grew and expanded, then finally released.

Let go of the pain, my child, the being whispered in her head.

Within the security of the being of light she felt another presence, touching on the fringe of her existence. She knew, yet not how, that it was the young woman she approached in the grass.

The woman was leaving. She was being sent back. The touch was meant to comfort. It did little but upset her again. It wasn’t fair! She was content to stay here and play in the afterlife, while Charlotte had a mission to find her own killer.

A gentle pulling jolted her conscious then tugged as their memories snapped and swirled together. Before her was an easel, and through eyes not her own, she could see a painting being completed. She stood watching a young man with brown hair and blue eyes kissed a girl in a cheerleading uniform, and her heart bled. Last, she saw a woman in a hospital bed, beaten bloody. A feeling of cold regret pooled inside as the woman blamed her for something out of her control.

As the being disengaged, she caught a name—Tara.

When Tara moved away, the being of light held Charlotte tighter to keep her from following. You, my child, will return as well. But be prepared, it may not be as you expect.

1

Palmetto Springs, Florida

---

Marcus Danforth hated calls like this one. As he got out of his unmarked police car, emotion, like a punch to his chest, nearly knocked him to the red clay road.

Charlotte was being loaded onto a stretcher. The paramedics frantically tried to manually ventilate her through the tube in her lungs. The ambulance waited with doors open to take her to the trauma unit where they would continue the fight to save her life. The scene was too surreal for a man who worked with this every day on the Palmetto Springs Police Department, but when your stepsister was the victim, it was a different story.

He swallowed to keep from throwing up.

Hey, Danforth. Officer Tim Merriwether walked over, placing a comforting hand on Marcus’ shoulder. We have it under control here. Why don’t you go on to the hospital?

Marcus waved the suggestion away. He still didn’t know if he would be able to speak, but he tried. Find anything yet?

Power lines were down. Neighbors called it in, said they heard a crash right before they lost power. When we arrived on scene, we found the victim… Merriwether blanched …er, Charlotte, shot in the left side of the head.

Anyone see anything? Marcus surveyed the neighborhood and the people that milled about on their lawns in the chill February night. In the glare of generator-powered floodlights, he could see Detective Vinnie Caspan talking with a potential witness. The fully restored Javelin sat broken by the snapped power pole.

No. So far everyone claims to have been inside at the time they heard the crash. No one saw a thing.

Has anyone called Gil or my parents?

Not that I know of.

Marcus pulled his cell phone off his belt and dialed his mother’s number. He was about to hang up when she answered.

Mom? Marcus.

Hello, sweetheart. William and I were just talking about you.

He didn’t pause to ask about what, but plowed ahead. Listen, you and William need to get to the hospital as soon as you can.

Marcus? What’s happened? Panic filled the genteel voice, and he could hear her take quick gulps of air. He started walking back to his car so as not to waste more time.

Now, don’t fall apart on me. I need you to be strong for William. There’s been an accident, and Charlotte’s hurt bad. Better to let her think it an accident for now and let them find out the ugly truth when they were safely at the hospital.

Oh, my God!

I’m going over to Gil’s to pick him up. We’ll meet you at the trauma center.

Yes. All right, sweetheart. Be careful.

You, too. I love you.

She mumbled something unintelligible into the phone and the line went dead. God, he hoped she didn’t wreck her damn car on the way to the hospital. His mother was emotional enough, but William Durand would be inconsolable.

Marcus threw his cell phone onto the passenger’s seat and stared numbly out the windshield. Tears burned his eyes. He clamped his jaw tightly, fighting them back.

Who would have shot Charlotte? She had never hurt another soul in her entire life and had spent years learning how to help others. Her commitment to her career was obvious. Even to those who had only met her. Well, the shitbag had better look over his shoulder for the rest of his miserable life because Marcus wouldn’t stop looking until he had the guy behind bars.

---

Marcus waited in his car to steel himself against what he was about to do. It was always the worst part of the job to tell a loved one that there had been a crime committed. Worse when the victim was family, and the loved one your best friend.

The front door opened and Gil walk out onto the porch with his hands shoved down deep into his jeans pockets.

It had been weird when Gil and Charlotte started dating. But if Marcus had handpicked the man his sister was to spend the rest of her life with, he’d have not done better than Gil Van Patric.

Marcus? Is that you, buddy? Gil took a few more steps across the porch. Why don’t you come on into the house and have a beer. Charlotte’ll be home in a few minutes.

Marcus opened the car door and got out, coming around to the stairs. He looked up at his oldest friend. Words bottlenecked in his throat. He coughed to clear them away and start again.

Gil, Charlotte’s not coming home tonight.

Was there an emergency at the hospital? He watched Gil’s eyes cloud in confusion and his brow wrinkle. Well, no wonder she didn’t call.

Marcus reached out and put a comforting hand on Gil’s arm. Buddy, I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this. Charlotte’s been shot. She’s in the trauma unit as we speak. I wanted to come tell you myself.

When Gil said nothing, Marcus cleared his throat and tried again, relying on his many years on the force to keep from falling apart on his friend. The next thing Marcus knew he was lying flat on his back, looking up at the stars as Gil hit the ground running for his car, without shoes or socks, nor car keys in his hand.

Marcus rolled over and got to his feet. He ran behind Gil, pulling him back by the shirt and forcing him around to face him. Hold on. You’re not going anywhere like that. Go get some shoes on, get a jacket, and I’ll drive you myself.

Gil nodded dumbly and started back for the house, moving, it seemed, on autopilot. Halfway there, he turned and looked at Marcus. Will she live?

I don’t know, buddy. I just don’t know.

---

A long, lung-emptying sigh filled the dark bedroom as the shooter placed the gun back among its brethren in the cool blackness of the safe.

The location had been perfection! How accommodating for Charlotte to take a shortcut home on this of all evenings. Imagine her driving down a street with nothing but sea grass on one side and sparse homes on the other. It was truly a gift from God. It was a sign, however small, that the death of Charlotte Durand was sanctioned by a higher power.

Clearly, the darling of the Palmetto Springs’ medical community would never have been tried and convicted for her crimes against society. Sometimes someone needed to step in and give fate a little push in the right direction. What better trial and conviction than that of the heavenly Father himself? Surely God would punish Charlotte for a lifetime of thinking herself better than the mortal circles in which she traveled.

The shooter pulled off the black hat and glasses and looked in the mirror.

The only thing left to do now was to show the world a face full of concern and appropriate shock over the liberation of Charlotte Durand.

---

Chaos reigned in the emergency room. Every nurse, doctor, and respiratory therapist who knew Charlotte came to either pay their respects, or feed on the unfolding drama. From where he stood, Marcus watched William walking around the trauma room, looking lost and helpless among the bandages, plastic syringe caps, and other medical paraphernalia littering the floor. The smell of blood and death hung in the air, a specter of human frailty. In all the years he’d known William, he had never seen him in such a state.

Dr. Durand had raised Marcus like a son and had always been fair and just in both praise and punishment. Marcus loved and respected the man and his heart bled to see him brought so low.

Carol Durand and Gil were in the waiting room, unable to stand the sight of the trauma team rushing about, yelling out medical terms that sounded very bad. Marcus turned away from the scene and walked to the waiting room to join the others.

Doctor Darby Payne, please report to the trauma room, stat. Doctor Darby Payne to trauma room, stat.

That had to be the twentieth time they’d paged Darby since Marcus arrived at the hospital. He gave a fleeting thought to the whereabouts of Charlotte’s colleague.

Gil looked up at Marcus with red-rimmed eyes. His dark wavy hair stood up in spikes where he kept running his hand through it. Any news?

They’re still working on her. I heard someone say something about the neurosurgeon coming in.

Carol tucked an errant piece of silver hair back into the bun drooping on the back of her neck. Marcus crossed the room and sat next to her, placing an arm around her slim shoulders. Can I get you anything?

No. I couldn’t right now.

Gil stood and paced the length of the room. Tension radiated from him, his muscular body ready to fight. Tell me you’re getting this case, he said, turning to Marcus.

I doubt Chief Hunter will let me, not with a family member involved. He held his hand up to stop Gil’s coming rant—and Marcus knew Gil too well to miss the look his best friend sent him to think there wouldn’t be a rant coming. That is on the record. Hunter won’t have anything to say about what I do off the record and on my own time.

Gil nodded, pacified for the moment.

William stepped into the room and motioned for them. She’s getting ready to go to surgery. We have a few moments to tell her we love her before she goes… His deep voice broke. He removed his glasses with a shaky hand, wiping at teary eyes.

Carol hurried to her husband. Placing her arm around his waist, she guided him back to the trauma room. Gil and Marcus followed in silent misery.

Curious stares moved over them as they walked to the trauma room. Marcus felt like a condemned man on his way to execution. Christ, couldn’t everyone just mind their own fucking business for one night?

The trauma room had been cleared except for a nurse who had her back to them, furiously typing into the computer chart. Gil sagged beside Marcus and he reached out to grab him before his knees could hit the ground.

Come on, I’ve got you.

Marcus half dragged Gil to a stool and set him down on it. He grasped the stool under the seat and pushed it over by the stretcher where Charlotte lay. Gil was a big man, but Marcus was bigger, and his grief was slowly simmering into rage.

Gil took Charlotte’s hand in one of his then smoothed her hair away from her forehead with the other. A blood-soaked bandage covered her left temple. Her eye socket looked like a huge blood blister.

Gil’s voice croaked as he hunkered down across her. Christ, babe, wake up and tell us who did this to you.

Tears ran down his face and plopped onto Charlotte’s closed lids. He kissed her still mouth, open slightly where a tube had been placed to secure her airway. I love you so much.

Marcus tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. Figures swam before him. He blinked, not wanting his mother and William to see him break down. He needed to be strong for them—for all of them, especially Gil.

The neurosurgeon walked in and gave William a nod. I promise I’ll take good care of her, Bill.

I wouldn’t trust her to anyone else. They shook hands and the trauma team prepared to transport Charlotte to the operating room.

Marcus leaned down and kissed her forehead. Shock made him start. She felt cold and waxy, like she had already died and only clung to life by a silken thread. His mother frowned in question, but he shook his head. It wasn’t anything he wanted them to know. Besides, he was probably just imagining things. It had already been a long night.

He glanced at his watch. Only nine-twenty! He watched as Charlotte’s stretcher was wheeled out of the trauma room. The night was about to get a whole lot longer.

2

Deer Creek, New Jersey

---

Pain burned her nerve endings like Greek fire. A moan grew in her throat but the tube stuck there made her cough instead. Alarms rang above and beside her as various machines exploded with sound.

A dark, broad face came into view.

Tara, can you hear me?

She nodded, or at least thought she did. The pain overwhelmed all other sensations.

I’m going to give you some more Morphine. Your family is in the waiting area. Would you like me to send them in?

Tara squeezed the hand that rested in hers, shaking her head. A stiff collar prevented her from moving her neck too far to either side. Why would she want her family to see her like this? All she wanted was to be left alone to die again. To escape the pain.

Another nurse placed a cool, damp towel on her forehead. You go back to sleep, all right? I’ll let your family know you woke for a bit.

Without another thought, Tara slipped once again into blessed peace.

She didn’t know how long she slept. Time had no meaning inside the velvet cocoon of the pain meds and sedation. Coming in and out of consciousness, she could sense movement, and sometimes hear voices speaking over her bed, but nothing filled her with as much clarity as the scene of her death.

Alarms began to go off over her head again and a hand gripped hers tightly. Voices whispered, urgent. Commands. Muffled sobs. They all ran together as did the days and nights, and always, just there, beyond the reach of even the most potent of drugs, came that one pleading voice, calling to her from somewhere past the veil of death. You’re the only one who can find my killer. No one knows who shot me.

---

Three weeks later

---

Tara coughed and sputtered. The tube hurt worse coming out of her throat than it had going in. Of course, she had been hanging in the twilight between life and death at that point, and now she was very much awake.

The respiratory therapist placed oxygen in her nose. Now, your throat might be sore for a few days because of the tube. Try not to talk too much right now.

Tara nodded. She didn’t want to speak. She didn’t want to do anything but lie in the bed and try to make sense of the odd images flashing through her mind. People and places she never knew ran in a constant loop, showing her experiences she didn’t remember—or did she? It was hard to say. They seemed so real, but maybe after the heavy pain meds she’d been under, she could no longer distinguish between dreams, reality, and movies. God in heaven, she didn’t even know how long she’d lain there in constant pain, but it seemed an eternity in hell.

A nurse pulled back the privacy curtain and her brother, Stuart, came in to sit beside her. His fingers curled into hers and he leaned over the bed. His solid, dependable presence comforted her. The pain eased a bit. Stuart always made everything better.

Mom and Dad went to get coffee.

At least that was something to be thankful for. Her parents had a tendency to hover. Stuart, on the other hand, would sit with her for hours and not say a word. She liked knowing he would only lend his support without crying or demanding something from her caretakers.

Her eyelids grew heavy again. It was frustrating she couldn’t seem to keep them open for more than ten minutes at a time without falling back to sleep. Something lodged deep in her soul, something imperative she had to get done. Time was of the essence. Yet, she couldn’t remember why or what exactly she needed to do. All her thoughts jumbled over one another in a drug-hazed alphabet soup.

She woke up a short time later, barely able to see beyond the veil of sleep. Someone sat by her bedside, holding her hand. A thumb brushed gently against hers. A name ran through her mind, then tripped from her lips