Blink of an Eye - Chapters

Oklahoma became a state in 1907. Before then, it was called Indian Territory and was a haven for outlaws, cutthroats, and renegades. A thousand years before statehood, Oklahoma was arguably the home of the most powerful tribe of Indians in either North or South America. The Mississippians were superb artisans, as seen by the intricate artifacts of their culture. The most powerful arm of the Mississippians lived near the eastern Oklahoma town of Spiro on a bluff overlooking an oxbow bend in the Arkansas River. They were called Mound Builders because they lived in dwellings perched atop large pyramid-like structures. The spiritual leader of Native Americans from two continents lived in the Mississippian settlement near Spiro, Oklahoma, and the tribe hosted a Summer Solstice Ceremony every year for thousands of believers. An artifact found at many Mississippian archaeological sites is a black pottery cup used in their tea ceremony. It's quite possible that the 'Black Cup of Oklahoma' is the most significant and spiritual relic remaining of the Mississippian culture. Blink of an Eye is my latest mystery/thriller in the Paranormal Cowboy Series.  I hope you love it.

Blink of an Eye

Chapter 1

Buck McDivit tore down I-35, his windshield peppered with snowflakes from an unexpected spring storm. The sky blazed with the crimson hues of a spectacular sunset. Buck had no time to admire its beauty as a beat-up pickup truck hurdled toward him from the other direction. The driver was frantically flashing his headlights.

Buck’s heart pounded as he realized the danger and watched in horror as a black truck careened over the hill behind the old pickup. With a loud crash, the black truck slammed into the pickup’s rear bumper, swerving it.

Buck slammed on his brakes in a desperate attempt to avoid a catastrophic collision and skidded across the grassy median in a heart-stopping slide, hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. Determined to catch the reckless driver, he gunned the engine, the powerful V-8 roaring. The tires squealed as he floored the gas pedal, hurtling down the highway in pursuit.

The speedometer reached a hundred as he crested a rolling hill and caught up with the two vehicles before him. The truck kept banging the old pickup, spinning it, and sending it into the ditch. It flipped in the air, doing a slow-motion tumble before hitting a sandstone outcrop. Buck dialed 911.

“Got a bad wreck on I-35. Need an ambulance, and quick.”

The black truck slowed just enough to give Buck time to read its license tag. The personalized plate said BladeRunner-1. With other things pressing his mind, he watched it disappear over a rolling hill.

Slamming the brakes, he slid within thirty feet as the truck caught fire and started to burn. Without bothering to shut his door, he raced to the burning vehicle. The truck lay on its side; the hood popped, and dark smoke billowed from the engine. Jumping on the running board, he grabbed the door handle and yanked.

An old man lay crumpled behind the wheel, his eyes closed. He felt light as a feather as Buck wrestled him from the cab. Dragging him, he tried to get as far away from the burning truck as possible. They almost made it.

When the truck exploded, the concussion knocked Buck off his feet. Slamming into the pavement, he skidded on knees and elbows, his face scraping asphalt. Hot air warmed his neck as it blasted over his head. The old man opened his eyes when he patted his face.

“I knew it was you when I saw your truck,” he whispered.

“Do I know you?”

The old man’s eyes closed, and he grew silent without answering the question.

Scant minutes had passed before sirens began screaming. An emergency vehicle from the Guthrie Fire Department skidded to a halt behind them. Two EMTs that Buck recognized raced to help.

Clint was short had a pug nose and a fireplug body. His partner Bones McGee was twice as tall and half as wide.

“Ain’t got much pulse,” Clint said, slipping an oxygen mask over his face. “You okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Buck said. “How’d you get here so quick?”

“Just down the road when the call came in. Lucky for you.”

The two EMTs loaded the old man into the back of the ambulance and then returned to check on Buck.

“You look like hell,” Bones said.

 ”Where are you taking him?” Buck asked.

“Guthrie Hospital,” Clint said. “Come with us. You got burned hands and blood all over you.”

“Meet you there,” Buck said. “Can’t leave my truck on the side of the road.”

“Okay, tough guy. Just don’t pass out on the way there.”

Vehicles had begun stacking up on I-35, police cars and rubberneckers slowing traffic. At least until a semi racing toward Wichita crested the rise. By the time he saw the congestion, it was too late. The big truck careened full throttle into Buck’s Navigator.

Both vehicles ended up in the ditch as firefighters rushed to check on the driver. Buck would have helped, except the collision had knocked him out. Ammonia beneath his nose opened his eyes.

“Your truck’s toast. Ain’t going no place except the junkyard,” Clint said.”

Buck was in no position to argue. After assisting him to the ambulance, they raced away in a blast of sirens and screech of burning rubber. He recovered enough to touch the shoulder of the old man on the gurney as Bones adjusted the I.V. in his veins.

“How’s he doing?” Buck asked.

“Don’t look so good,” Bones said. “You got a hell of a knot on your head. Hang on, and I’ll clean the blood off your arms and face.”

“Just take care of the chief,” Buck said. “I’ll be fine till we get to the hospital.”

The old man’s bone structure and hooked nose pegged him as a Native American. He opened his eyes and smiled when he saw Buck.

“I knew I’d find you,” he said.

“You know me?” Buck asked.

“Maia sent me. She said to give you this.”

He fumbled with something in the pocket of his faded shirt. Buck took the object, turning it in his hand.

“What is it?” he asked.

The old man didn’t answer, his eyes closing again.

“We’re losing him,” Bones said, pumping his chest.

The faint blink of a dark Indian eye showed them he was still alive.

“Hang in there, Chief,” Buck said.

A wisp of a smile appeared on the wizened face of the old Indian as he grasped Buck’s hand and squeezed. When his hand relaxed, Buck knew he was dead. Bones checked his pulse and then covered his face with the sheet.

“You knew him?” he asked.

“Never saw him before tonight,” Buck said.

“Who is Maia, and what did he give you?”

“A beautiful woman I once knew. Don’t have a clue what this thing is,” he said.

“Looks like some Indian relic to me,” Bones said. “What happened back there?”

“The driver of a black truck ran him off the road. I got his tag number.”

“Give it to me. I’ll call it in,” Bones said.

“BladeRunner-1. Oklahoma vanity tag.”

Buck glanced at his skinned elbows and blisters on his palms. After wiping the blood from his face with his blue bandanna, he wrapped it around his right hand. Bones didn’t let him finish, moving around the cot to check him out.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

“All over,” Buck said.

“Least you’re alive,” Bones said, glancing at the old man's body covered with the sheet. “More than I can say for the chief.” 

 

Chapter 2

 

Hours passed before the doctor and nurses allowed Buck to leave the emergency room. His foster mother, Carol Hagen, ran to meet him in the waiting area when he exited the swinging doors. The first thing she did after hugging him was to check out his bandages.

“They wouldn’t tell us at the window how you were. Jim and I have been sick with worry.”

“HIPA,” he said, referring to the strict Federal privacy law. “Gotta love it.”

Carol was a stunner, even for someone in her mid-fifties. A former homecoming queen, she’d married the football team captain. Her supple frame carried not an extra pound. She kept it that way by riding horses and helping her husband, Jim, work their farm, at least when he wasn’t busy doing Logan County sheriff work.

“Are you okay?”

“Skinned up, and a few burns here and there. Nothing serious.”

Carol grabbed his elbow and pulled him to the door. ”Jim and the dogs are in the car. We’ve been taking turns here in the waiting room.”

Buck kissed her forehead. “Thanks, my truck’s history. I was wondering how I was going to get home.”

He smiled when she said, “You knew we’d be here.”

The rain had replaced patchy snowfall as muted moonlight cast reflections off pools of water. A white Suburban moved toward them, two dogs squirming to get out of the half-open window in the back. When Carol opened the door, they both came running.

“Boys,” she said as they jumped up on Buck.

Buck squatted to show them some love. “It’s okay,” he said.

Pard was a black and white border collie Buck had rescued from the streets. They were inseparable, and he went everywhere with the young P.I.

Coco was Carol’s Chihuahua. Jim’s bloodhound Snuffy had died of old age the previous summer.

“Too much pain to deal with when you lose your best friend. I’ll never have another dog,” Jim had said.

Despite himself, Jim had grown attached to the little brown dog that wasn’t afraid of anything.

Buck was thirty-something, six feet of muscle, dark wavy hair, and chiseled good looks. Despite his appearance, he’d never married. As time passed, Carol and Jim wondered if he ever would. It didn’t seem to matter as the two dogs wagged their tails and licked his face.

“Back in the car, boys,” Jim said as he exited the Suburban. “You okay?”

 ”A few bumps and scrapes. I’ll be good as new in a day or so.”

“Good. Carol was worried about you.”

Buck grinned, knowing Sheriff Jim had been just as worried. Two inches shorter, Hagen had cropped black hair and a mustache. A former Army officer, he hated uniforms. The badge on his belt was the only sign he was the most powerful law officer in Logan County.

“It’s late. Sorry you have to take me to Edmond,” Buck said.

“Then come home with us. Carol had a tamale casserole in the oven. It smelled wonderful,” Jim said.

“You haven’t eaten?”

“No, and I bet you haven’t either,” Carol said.

“I can drop you off tomorrow on my way to work,” Jim said.

“Sounds great,” Buck said as Pard jumped in his lap and licked his face.

The Hagens lived on a farm east of Guthrie in a rustic log house that was both spacious and comfortable. Coco and Pard were the first ones out the door. After a friendly argument over a dog biscuit left on the front steps, they cuddled together on the porch. They were still there when Carol, Buck, and Jim finished eating and joined them.

“You haven’t lost your touch, Carol,” Buck said. “I’ve never had tamale casserole. It tasted wonderful.”

“You’d say that if I’d cooked an old shoe,” she said.

Buck sat on the steps as Jim retrieved a couple of cold Coors from an ice chest he always kept on the front porch. Carol was drinking hot tea. She held the warm cup under her nose, savoring the aroma. Frogs and crickets played a concert as the horn of an eighteen-wheeler faded in the distance. Jim joined him on the steps.

“This is the most peaceful place on earth,” Buck said.

“No arguments from me,” Jim said. “What happened out there on the interstate?”

“I was going to OKC to take in dinner and a movie with Lynn. Her birthday.”

“Was she upset when she found out you were in an accident?” Carol asked.

“She was so busy screaming at me when I called she never gave me a chance to explain why I stood her up.”

“She won’t stay mad when she realizes what happened.”

“Not so sure about that.”

“Buck, I’m so sorry,” Carol said.

“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t had much luck with women. Some things never seem to change. I saw an old red pickup heading north. The driver flashed his lights when I passed it in the other direction.”

“You knew him?” Jim asked.

“No. He was driving fast, almost out of control. Someone in a black truck chased him, trying to run him off the road. I cut across the median and followed them.”

“I tried running the car tag the EMT’s called in,” Jim said.

“Tried?”

“The Caddo Nation issued the tag. They refuse to share information with anyone outside their tribe.”

“They can do that?” Buck asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jim said.

“I’m sure they’ll cooperate in a murder investigation,” Carol said.

“You’d think, but I cannot compel them.”

Coco and Pard opened their eyes and perked their ears when a distant coyote howled at the moon. They were soon asleep again in Coco’s plush dog bed.

“What about the old man?” Buck asked. “Were you able to identify him?”

“Pascal LeFlore, a full-blooded Mississippi Choctaw. He lived alone in the mountains of southeastern Oklahoma. Did he say anything to you?”

Carol’s hand went to her mouth when Buck answered. “He said Maia had sent him to find me.”

“You have to be kidding,” she said, leaning forward in the old rocking chair.

“No one has seen or heard from Maia in a couple of years,” Jim said. “You think she’s still alive?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Don’t be like that, Buck McDivit,” Carol said.

Jim grabbed two more beers from the ice chest, tossing one to Buck.

“You know something you haven’t told us?”

“I’m not sure Maia was ever alive, at least in the truest sense.”

“What kind of gibberish are you spouting?” Jim asked.

“Maia was a Mississippian Indian. That tribe is long extinct. To me, she was somehow more than human.”

“Not human?” Carol said. “What then?”

Buck glanced up as the shadow of a cloud covered the moon. “Maybe a deity.”

“Get the hell out of here,” Jim said. “What kind of painkillers did they give you at the hospital?”

“I said you wouldn’t believe me.”

Carol was sitting on the edge of her rocker. “If this is true, why haven’t you told us about it before now?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I’ve wrestled with the concept. I have no other explanation.”

“Then what was she doing here?” Jim asked.

“She had a plan, part of which was for me to father a child.”

“They drugged you,” Jim said.

“And tricked me.”

“Don’t be bitter,” Carol said. “Little Adam is a beautiful boy. You should be proud.”

“I am, except that Clayton, KK, and Luna are raising him. I have no input. I can’t even tell him that I’m his real father.”

“Because that’s what you agreed to,” Jim said.

Buck finished his beer, smashing the can on the porch. “Since I’m working for Clayton now and see the boy almost every day, it’s hard to get it out of my mind. He’s my son. Hell, for all practical purposes, he’s your grandson.”

“Believe me,” Jim said. “Carol and I have talked about that exact thing.”

“You had a strange relationship with Maia and Clio. I know you miss them. Someone else will come along for you,” Carol said.

“Not like those two,” Buck said.

“Why didn’t you go to Austin to see Clio?” Jim asked.

“I did. She’d married, had a kid, and another on the way.”

“Enough,” Jim said. “If what you say is true, why did Maia send the old man to find you?”

Buck reached into his shirt pocket, removing something that fit in his palm.

“To give me this,” he said.

Carol got out of the rocker, standing over him for a better view of the object he held.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A piece of black pottery shaped like a cup,” he said.

“Let me see it?” Jim said.

“Looks like Indian pottery,” Carol said.

“Old Indian pottery,” Jim said. “What do you make of it?”

“It’s a clue to a mystery. If I knew, I’d have the answer. I don’t.”

“Not much of a clue,” Jim said.

“Depends. I need someone to tell me what it is and where it’s from.”

“Ned Hartner,” Carol said.

Buck glanced over his shoulder. “Who?”

“Deals in Indian art. Has a shop in Guthrie,” Jim said. “He also has a collection of Indian artifacts.”

“Maybe he can tell you what it is,” Carol said.

“I’ll look him up tomorrow,” Buck said as the coyote howled again.

This time, Pard and Coco didn’t awaken. 

 

Chapter 3

 

Buck’s cell phone rang the following day as he exited I-35 on his way to downtown Guthrie. It was his boss, Clayton O’Meara.

“Heard you had a bad wreck last night. You okay?”

“Banged up a bit. I’ll be all right. More than I can say for your Navigator.”

“I got insurance. Don’t worry about it.”

“Figured you did. What’s up?”

“We need to talk. Where you at?”

“Coming into Guthrie. I must visit someone first, and then I’ll head your way.”

“See you when you get here,” Clayton said.

Buck sat the phone on the dash of his old pickup, then reached over and rubbed Pard’s head.

“This is what I was driving when I first met you. Remember?”

Pard barked and wagged his tail. Guthrie was the territorial capital of Oklahoma and one of the first towns in the state. Brick-paved streets and buildings made of native stone dominated its oldest section. All were preserved or restored to their original facades. When he passed the bar, he waved to someone he knew that Tom Mix, the cowboy movie star of silent films, had once owned.

Tourists taking pictures and enjoying the ambiance strolled along the sidewalks. Buck had something else on his mind as he parked the truck. Ned Hartner’s storefront sat between a restaurant and an old hotel.

“Guard the truck,” he said. “I got business inside. I won’t be long.”

Pard barked and climbed to the open window to watch Buck enter the little shop. Its sign said Hartner’s Indian Art & Antiquities. Bells tinkled when he opened the heavy door, and a man appeared from behind to see who was there.

“Help you?” he said.

Dressed in blue jeans and a floral shirt, he mopped sweat from his brow with a wadded handkerchief. An old ceiling fan moved as slowly as did the balding man. American Indian art lined the walls.

“Buck McDivit. Someone told me you know a few things about Indian antiquities. If I show you something, can you tell me what you think it is?”

“I’m Ned,” the man said. “What you got?”

Buck handed him the black object. “Ever see anything like it?”

“No, but I’ll give you fifty bucks for it.”

“Not for sale. I’m only interested in information.”

“Didn’t mean to insult you. Make it five hundred bucks.”

“Like I said, it’s not for sale. You must know something about it if you think it’s valuable.”

“Looks like something someone dug up from Spiro Mounds.”

“What’s that?” Buck asked.

“A prehistoric Indian settlement in eastern Oklahoma, near Spiro. Where’d you get it?”

“Someone gave it to me.”

“The state protects artifacts from Spiro. They’re illegal to buy and sell.”

“You offered to buy it,” Buck said.

“Only to return it to the state.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks for the information,” Buck said, heading for the door.

“Wait, I’ll give you a thousand dollars, cash. Right here, right now.”

Buck didn’t answer as the door closed behind him. He had a surprise when he returned to the truck. A young woman was rubbing Pard’s head through the open window. He admired her western shirt and how she filled her faded jeans when she turned and flashed him a smile.

“Love your pooch,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“Pard,” he said.

“Mind if I take his picture?”

“Knock yourself out,” he said.

Along with her long blond curls, a digital camera draped her neck. A touch of red lip-gloss was her only concession to makeup, the color highlighting her big green eyes. She was a knockout. He could tell by her body language that she knew it. After taking several pictures, she gave him a card that said, Laura’s Fabulous Photos.

“I’m Laura. My shop’s just down the street. I’ll have prints ready in a couple of days if you care to drop by and have a look.”

“Buck McDivit. Glad to meet you, Laura. Might do just that.”

He whistled to himself as he watched her walk away. “That girl’s a looker and wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. You think she was coming on to me?” he asked as he backed out of the parking space.

A bark was his only reply.

Clayton O’Meara’s ranch lay north of Guthrie amid the rolling blackjack-covered countryside. Most farms in this part of Oklahoma weren’t significant. Clayton’s was anything but small. Except for a quarter section near the center of his property, he’d bought everything in sight. Unable to buy the land, he’d married the head of the pagan compound. It was a marriage of convenience for both parties.

Luna continued living at the compound with her lover, Theia. Clayton lived at his ranch with his significant other, KK. He’d adopted Luna’s son Adam, who split his time between the farm and the compound. Adam, Buck’s natural son, had been conceived during a night of drugs and trickery—a complicated situation.

Pard’s tail was wagging as they passed through the gated entrance to Clayton’s ranch. He was soon on the veranda, sitting in Clayton’s lap.

“How are you doing, Pard boy?” Clayton said. “When you gonna leave this bounder and come live with me?”

“Never,” Buck said, smiling as he sat in the rocking chair beside Clayton’s.

Clayton was an imposing man. At six foot four, he towered over most people. Though sixty-something, he had the demeanor of a much younger man. His hair wasn’t gray but silver, as was his well-groomed mustache. When he smiled, the world smiled with him. As always, a glass of whiskey lay nestled in his hand.

“Morning toddy?” he asked.

“Too early for me,” Buck said.

Clayton’s long-suffering assistant Maria appeared with coffee, winking as she handed it to Buck.

“I got a problem and need to take some time off,” he said.

“Problem?”

He handed the black artifact to Clayton and said, “I need to visit eastern Oklahoma to find out about this.”

“What is it?”

“Valuable Indian relic. At least from the reaction I got from the slimeball I just showed it to.”

“Who you talking about?”

“Ned Hartner. He offered me a thousand bucks for that piece of pottery.”

“I heard he’s not above fencing stolen art.”

“Wonder why Sheriff Hagen doesn’t know about it?”

“Such things are hard to track. A network of people launder stolen items for a pie cut.”

Clayton smiled when Buck said, “How do you know so much about the subject?”

“Luna’s the smartest person I ever met. I got more than bed privileges when I married her.”

“I see. How does KK feel about that?”

“She usually joins us. That woman is insatiable. Since she’s your ex-girl, you already knew that.”

“You’re making me blush,” Buck said.

“Don’t think so. Where in eastern Oklahoma do you need to go?”

“Spiro. There’s a state park there, and Hartner seemed to think that’s where the pottery came from.”

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“Don’t know. Can’t you spare me for a few days?”

“I can do more than that. I got a little job in eastern Oklahoma I need you to help me with while you’re gone.”

“Like what?”

“Luna and I own a resort hotel up in the mountains of southeast Oklahoma.”

“Oh?”

“Quite a showplace. I bought it last year.”

“Didn’t know southeast Oklahoma was a tourist destination.”

“It’s not. We lose money every month. It’s never even been close to full.”

“Then why keep it?”

“Because of its location in one of the most beautiful spots on earth. Mountains all around, flowing creeks, waterfalls, and towering vistas. Luna, Theia, KK, and I love the place. You ain’t lived till you’ve sat in a hot tub with three gorgeous women watching the sunset over the Ouachitas.”

“I’m impressed,” Buck said.

“Luna is astute.”

“And you’re the recipient of her astuteness.”

Clayton grinned. “Among other things,” he said.

“What exactly do you want me to do at your lodge?”

“Keep a friend of mine out of trouble.”

“Maybe you’d better explain.”

“Jacob Huntington is a cryptozoologist.”

“And what the hell is that?” Buck asked.

“A pseudoscience with a mighty fancy name. Cryptozoologists search for cryptids.”

“What’s a cryptid?”

“Sasquatches, Loch Ness monsters, yetis, and such. You get the picture. My friend Jake is the sole heir of the Huntington Oil & Gas fortune. He has never done an honest day’s work in his life. It doesn’t keep him from visiting every continent to try to document cryptids. He arrives at my resort tomorrow to look for a Bigfoot.”

“What harm can that do?”

“If he gets hurt at my place, the oil deal I got working with HOG could go down the tubes.”

“What makes you think he’ll get hurt?” Buck asked.

“Because he doesn’t have the good sense God gave a goose.”

“So you want me to nursemaid him?”

“Pretty much,” Clayton said.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”

“I was planning on bird-dogging him myself. Like I said, he’s an old friend of mine. I was with him when he almost drowned us in a mini-sub in Scotland.”

“What changed your mind?” Buck asked.

“A dream I had last night.”

“Oh?”

“Our bedroom opens to the veranda here. A breeze blew the sheet off me. KK always sleeps naked, and I was in the buff myself. I opened my eyes when I got a chill. The sliding door was wide open, the curtain flapping in the breeze.”

“And?”

“Someone was standing at the foot of the bed.”

“Your ranch is like an armed fortress. How did anyone get past your guards?”

“It was more like a dream, the person's body almost translucent, glowing, moving in and out of focus.”

“A ghost?”

Clayton’s silver hair rippled in the sunlight when he shook his head and said, “It was Maia, your Indian shaman girlfriend from the compound at Lycaia.”

“Maia was standing at the foot of your bed?”

Clayton nodded. “KK never woke up. Didn’t matter that I was naked as a jaybird because so was Maia.”

“What’d she say to you?”

“Not a damn thing,” Clayton said. “Maybe I was dreaming. I don’t know because I didn’t remember it until I woke up this morning and heard about your wreck. It caused me to have a thought I couldn’t shake out of my head.”

“Thought?”

“I needed to send you to bird dog Jake instead of doing it myself. When you said you must visit eastern Oklahoma, I realized it was more than a coincidence.”

“Bet I’m the only person on earth who believes the story you told me.”

“Then will you help me?”

“You’re the boss. You had me at hello.”

“Fine,” he said, his smile returning. “Maria, I need more whiskey.”

Maria topped up Clayton’s tumbler, shaking her head as she returned to the kitchen.

“Will I have time to do what I need?” Buck asked.

“Jake never does anything fast. He could be at the resort for a month before going into the mountains. I want you to be with him when he does. Let’s go outside. I got something to show you.”

Buck followed him through a maze of flowered pathways and arches covered with wisteria. He stopped when they reached the acres of barns and cattle pens. A cowpoke rode past on a horse, its tail swishing flies. In the driveway was a yellow Jeep.

“Called this morning and got you a new ride. This tricked-out little jewel cost me an arm and a leg.”

“Kind of bright.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Clayton said. “It’s what was available.”

“I’m not bitching. I don’t need anything this fancy,” Buck said.

“Let me be the judge of that. The hotel has horses and stables. You’ll need your pony. The Jeep has a matching horse trailer with tack room and everything else you need. You game?”

“Like I said, you’re the boss. Anything else I need to know?”

“Just that an Oklahoma oilman raised Jake, so don’t trust a word he says.”

“Any other instructions?”

“Keep your powder dry until the weekend. Luna, Theia, KK, and I are coming down. I'll watch your back for a few days.”

##

Born near Black Bayou in the little Louisiana town of Vivian, Eric Wilder grew up listening to his grandmother’s tales of politics, corruption, and ghosts that haunt the night. He now lives in Oklahoma, where he continues to pen mysteries and short stories with a southern accent. He authored the French Quarter Mystery Series set in New Orleans, the Paranormal Cowboy Series, and the Oyster Bay Mystery Series. Please check it out on his Amazon author page. You might also like checking out his Facebook page.