A Secret Escape: The Lost Trinkets Series, #3

By Sherrie Lea Morgan

When the past is unlocked, no telling what will come out…

 

Shannon Pryce is slowly settling into small-town life, but with a psychic gift like hers to hide, fitting in is more of a challenge. If she's ever to put down real roots in Petrie's Crossing's red-clay soil, it's time to widen her circle beyond a few friends, acquaintances, and one smoking-hot lover. It's also time to solve the mystery of the next object in her late Aunt Caroline's box, this time a brass key. Oddly enough, the key transmits the same disturbing impressions she picks up inside the railroad museum—fire, smoke, pleas for help from an underground trap. Worse, the author who's been hounding her for an interview is asking too many personal questions—and threatening to show up on her doorstep. Can Shannon dig deep enough to find the key's rightful owner, heal a woman's broken heart, and find the strength to confront the ghosts of her own past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Village Publishing
• Release date: Mar 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998119632

Sherrie Lea Morgan

Sherrie Lea Morgan is an active member of Romance Writers of America, her local chapter Georgia Romance Writers, Paranormal Romance Guild. She lives north of Atlanta, GA with her twin sister, two dogs and two cats. When not working her current manuscripts, she enjoys spending time with her family. Visit her at: www.sherrieleamorgan.com; www.facebook.com/sherrielea ; Sherrie Lea Morgan (@slmorganwrit) | Twitter

Book preview

a secret escape

Lost Trinket Series Book Three

Sherrie Lea Morgan

Village Publishing

ACWORTH, GEORGIA

Copyright © 2016 by Sherrie Lea Morgan

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Sherrie Lea Morgan/Village Publishing

PO Box 2519

Acworth, Georgia/USA 30102

www.sherrieleamorgan.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

a secret escape/The Lost Trinkets Series Book Three/Sherrie Lea Morgan. – 2nd ed.

ISBN 9780998119632

Editor: Lindsey Loucks

Cover for this book done by Yocla Designs.

This book is dedicated to my son, Branden Lee, who is my hero, and to my daughter-in-law, Stephanie Ann, who brought light and unconditional love to my son. Thank you both for being there and cheering for me. Pi.

psychometry (sīˈkämətrē) noun

1. the ability to discover facts about an event or person by touching inanimate objects associated with them.

manifestation (manəˌfesˈtāSH(ə)n) noun

d: an occult phenomenon; specifically: materialization

Medium (mēdēəm)

1. A person claiming to be in contact with the spirits of the dead and to communicate between the dead and the living.

contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

a hushed favor

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chapter One

My hands snapped back from the keyboard like it had turned into a red-hot poker. The momentum shoved my back against the cushion of my chair. I squeezed my eyes closed and gasped through my clenched teeth. My breath locked in my lungs and I shivered. I forced a breath out and dropped my elbows onto my knees.

Breathe, darn it. I inhaled deep. One...two...three. Exhale, one...two...three. The bright stripes of the woven area rug below me wouldn’t focus. I blinked and repeated the deep inhales and exhales until the walls of my small office stopped spinning.

I'm not ready for this. Not this morning. I searched behind me and slammed the lid to my laptop. I straightened and rubbed my damp palms together while my gaze jumped around the room. The single spiral of smoke emanating from my sage incense stick flickered then continued its long thin trail up toward my ceiling.

Why are you staring at the ceiling? Steph asked.

My gaze fell to her face and her raised eyebrows. She was almost as opaque as the incense smoke.

I was trying to answer the email from Hank. I rose and paced the length of my office. The questions he's asked for his book are extremely detailed and personal. I hadn't realized he intended to be so specific.

Authors should be detailed in their research. It makes for better writing if they don't make up things, don't you think?

True. But it doesn't make this easier. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to do this. Maybe I should have lied and told him he got the wrong number.

Maybe you should write him and tell him you changed your mind and refuse to do it.

Hands on my hips, I stopped and faced her. You're supposed to be supportive. You're supposed to say I can do this.

Well, that's a given. Duh. But I'm also your twin. I know how hard this is going to be, she said, and her image faded in and out a few times before coming back. Maybe I'm tired of feeling like I'm always talking you into things.

Seriously?

No, but I thought if you felt sorry for me, you'd stop feeling sorry for yourself, she said then laughed. C'mon. Time to suck it up and move on.

I blew out a breath. You're right.

Harmony meowed and wove around my ankles.

I dropped and petted her before glancing up at Steph and winking. I'll prepare myself better when I'm ready to answer those questions. But right now, I've decided it's time I used my early morning hours exploring this town more. I stretched. I haven't even gone inside Rocky's Railroad Museum yet, and it's been three months already since we got here.

Judy, Judy, Judy, Steph said. You really want to see that snob's face this early? Have you at least eaten breakfast first? And why is it named Rocky's?

I gave her a quick nod. Yep, I've eaten. I don't know why it's called Rocky's. I'll have to find out and, yes, I'm going. Facing Judy will be less stressful than answering Hank’s emails.

Okay, but what about the next item from the box. That brass key is what we decided on, right?

Right, I said then frowned. Would you mind sitting here while I try to get a vision? My nerves are already on edge.

Maybe you should wait. Go do a little tourist action, then do a reading?

I grinned. I don’t have to be convinced. We’ll do one when I get back. Want to come with me?

Oh, no thanks. I've decided to check around that small graveyard right outside of town.

Graveyard? I must have missed that.

It's small. Likely built way back before the town expanded. It's tucked over the hill past the Lees' place.

Okay, you hit the graveyard, and I'll hit the museum, I said. We’ll meet back here afterwards.

Sounds like a plan, she said and faded away.

Harmony followed me downstairs and through the antique shop.

I'll be back in time to open, kitty. You're in charge.

I slipped out the front door into the bright morning sun as a brisk breeze blew around me. I waved at the locals eating across at Mitch's diner and strolled right. Aromas of eggs, bacon, and toast followed me as I meandered down the sidewalk past my antique shop, a vacant building, and the aromas finally faded when I arrived at the corner bookstore.

I paused and peered through the windows of the last building on my side of the street, grinning at the cushioned couches and seats nestled in the middle of several wooden shelves brimming with books. On the back wall sat a huge fireplace, complete with two old candelabras on the mantle. Off to the right, the owner used a wooden desk converted to the height of a sales counter. Nice. I checked the store hours. This would definitely be on my list to explore next in town.

I scanned the street before taking the crosswalk. No cars, but habits are so hard to break. I stepped up and read the sign on Rocky's front doors. She'd be opening in ten minutes. I shoved my hands into my jeans pockets, noting a few small groups of tourists heading my way from Calabretti's.

Let's see how Judy acts around tourists. I pivoted and strode right, turning the side of the building where the old railroad tracks lay, abandoned by both the living and time. Cracked, broken pieces of wooden crossties were scattered around inside the two large steel rails.

Chatter caught my attention. The tourists had arrived. Would Judy open early or make them wait? I smirked and headed toward the front. Time to find out.

A loud crash and cries met me when I rounded the corner of Rocky's. One couple squatted, consoling a young boy on the ground who was crying. The trash barrel normally guarding the front window had been toppled over. Poor guy fought the barrel, and the barrel won, judging by the blood dripping from his mouth.

The front doors swung open, and Judy stood there like a queen coming out to survey her dominion’s destruction. Her pinched face aimed at the young boy whose cries ceased at Judy's appearance. Within seconds, her expression softened, and she rushed over to the young boy.

Are you okay? she asked, glancing at his parents. What happened?

Both parents spoke at once, assuring her their son was fine and merely suffered a small cut on his lip from his rambunctiousness.

Judy nodded and examined the boy's face. "Come