"The Old West mingles with modern mystery"
Reviewed by Sharon Galligar Chance
Posted August 18, 2010
Mystery Cozy | Mystery Paranormal
When police sketch artist Aurora "Rory" McCain inherits her
uncle's Victorian home, as well as his private investigation
business, she realizes that a lot of haunting memories will
linger. She never dreams she will inherit a real ghost, too!
As she moves in and prepares to close out her uncle's P.I.
business, Rory is startled to meet the ghost of Arizona
Federal Marshal Ezekial "Zeke" Drummond. His spirit remains
in the old home, the site of his murder back in
the 1870's. Rory's Uncle Mac had worked to
solve Zeke's long-ago murder. The ghostly marshal had,
in turn, helped Mac with his present-day investigations.
The Marshal offers to continue the partnership with Rory,
in exchange for her continuing the quest to solve the
mystery of his untimely death. Since Rory has taken on one
of her uncle's clients who needs to find out if his sister
was murdered, what's a girl to do, but agree? After all,
Zeke was here first! With Zeke's help, Rory sets out to
investigate both cases, all while keeping up with her
her day-job as detective and sketch artist. When her
life is threatened because of her investigation, Rory finds
having a ghost for partner might not be such a bad thing
after all.
Sharon Pape's debut novel, SKETCH ME IF YOU CAN (the first
in her Portrait of Crime Mysteries), is part mystery, part
paranormal, and all spine-tingling suspense. She
blends the present and the past together, creating a fast-
paced and intriguing story that gives enough back-story to
introduce all the main characters to the reader, while
keeping the tension of the current investigation taut. This
promises to be a great beginning to a dynamic ongoing
series that both mystery lovers and paranormal fans will
enjoy.
SUMMARY
She's a police sketch artist. He's a dead lawman. Together,
they put a face on murder.
When her uncle dies, police sketch artist Rory McCain get's
a list of clients from his private detective business and a
beautiful, old house with a ghostly inhabitant: Federal
Marshal Ezekiel Drummond, aka Zeke.
Having a ghost as a housemate is bad enough, but as Rory's
drawn into one of her uncle's unsolved cases and faces a
cold-blooded killer, she may need the marshal's supernatural
help to stay alive.
ExcerptEven as Rory was jumping up from the couch, she was
taking aim at the man in the chair. In spite of her
trembling hands, she managed to keep him firmly in her
sights. How could the shadowy product of her imagination
actually exist in the harsh glare of the lamp? The bogey
man was never in the closet when you finally built up the
courage to look. And the monster was never really under the
bed, even if you were sure you could hear it breathing. So
why hadn’t this shadow simply evaporated in the light,
leaving her to laugh at her own foolishness? But there he
was in her crosshairs and what made it even worse, he seemed
perfectly relaxed and comfortable in spite of her obvious
advantage over him. In fact, she thought she detected a bit
of a smile on his lips as if he were just fine with the way
things were going.
Rory felt anger quickly overtaking shock. “Who the hell
are you?” she demanded, her voice strong and steady even
though her insides were quivering.
“Ezekiel Drummond,” he said, in a drawl that was a
mixture of southern and something else she couldn’t
immediately place. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,
Ma’am.” He dipped his head as if he were introducing
himself at a polite social function.
“You can drop the phony act, Mr. Drummond. Just tell me
how you got in here and why you’ve been sitting there
watching me.”
“Phony?” he said, effecting a stricken look. “And here I
was doin’ my best to be charmin’.”
Rory was in no mood to engage in witty banter with a
potential rapist or murderer. “Just answer the
questions.”
“Well, you were sleepin’ so peaceful, it didn’t seem
right to wake you,”
“But the breaking and entering-- that part seemed all
right to you?”
“Now hold on a minute there,” he said, “or we’re goin’
get off on the wrong....”
“Too late,” Rory interrupted. “So this is how we’re
going to fix that. You’re going to get up very slowly and
take that gun out of your holster and drop it on the floor.
Then you’re going to kick it over to me and put your hands
on your head. Don’t even think about trying anything
funny.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said as he stood and followed her
instructions. He was tall, an inch or so over six feet,
with rough hewn features, deep set blue eyes, an unruly
thatch of dark hair and a thick moustache. What really
caught Rory’s attention was that he appeared to be dressed
for a party with a Wild West theme. But the clothes hadn’t
come from any costume shop, they were well worn and not
recently laundered. He had on brown pants and scuffed
boots, a long sleeved white shirt that was on its way to
yellowing at the collar and cuffs and a vest with the tin
star of a lawman. Even the gun in his holster looked like
an authentic Colt single action. He could have walked
straight out of any number of old TV or movie westerns.
He drew the gun slowly out of the holster and let it drop
to the floor. It landed on the hardwood without making a
sound. Rory assumed that in her current state of mind and
with the racket that her heart was making in her chest, she
simply hadn’t heard it. But when she glanced down to see
where it had fallen, it was nowhere in sight.
“What did you do with the gun?” she snapped, cocking her
own weapon.
“It’s gone. Seemed like the best thing to do under the
circumstances.”
“Gone? What the hell does that mean?”
“For a pretty little lady, you sure like to use that word
hell a lot.”
“I’m not finding this the least bit amusing, Mr.
Drummond. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one holding
the gun. So in less you want to test my patience or my
accuracy, I suggest you start answering my questions.”
“Okay, okay, no need to go gettin’ yourself all in a
lather.”
In a lather? Rory tried to remember the location
of the nearest psychiatric hospital, because it was becoming
more obvious by the moment that Ezekiel here, if that was in
fact his name, had taken an unauthorized leave of absence
from a well padded cell where he spent his days rounding up
cattle rustlers and heading up posses. But that still
didn’t explain what had become of the gun or how he had
managed to break into the house to begin with.
“The gun wasn’t real,” Ezekiel said with a shrug of his
shoulders. “I made it up.”
“You can’t just make up a gun or think one away for that
matter.” Unless…“ was it some kind of hologram?” That
seemed like the only plausible explanation, but holograms
required equipment and she was fairly certain there was no
equipment of that nature in the house.
“Hollow gram?” Ezekiel said, rolling the word around in
his mouth as if he were trying it out for the first time.
“No Ma’am, can’t say as how I know what that is.”
If he wasn’t crazy, he was sure one damned good actor.
Maybe somebody put him up to this, she thought, seizing on
the possibility with relief. She worked with a few young
detectives who loved practical jokes. She didn’t know why
she hadn’t thought of that sooner. But even as she was
warming to the theory, she realized that not even the most
socially inept among them would have orchestrated a prank
like this so soon after her uncle’s passing.
She was back to where she had started. Her arms were
tiring and starting to shake with the weight of the gun.
She wished she’d taken handcuffs with her, but she’d left
them behind in her other purse, since she couldn’t imagine
any use for them while she was cleaning out Mac’s place.
She had to put more distance between herself and her
uninvited guest. She ordered him to sit down in the chair
again and she back stepped carefully until she could perch
on the arm of the couch and rest her gun hand on her knee.
She knew she should call 911 or her own precinct house.
She should have done it right away for that matter, but
she’d wanted to have some kind of handle on the situation
before she made the call. She didn’t want to sound
unhinged, even if she was feeling like Alice in free fall
down the rabbit hole. She’d try one more time to get a
sensible answer out of him. Then, whether or not she
succeeded, she’d call for help.
“I’m still waiting to hear how you got in here, Mr.
Drummond,” she said, temporarily putting aside the matter of
the vanishing gun.
“Well now, the truth is that I never actually left.”
“All right, then when did you gain entrance to this
house?” Was it possible that he’d been here since
yesterday? Was he the shadow she’d thought she’d seen in
the bedroom doorway? The shape she’d seen in the window
last week? A chill leapt up her spine and she steeled
herself to keep from shuddering. It wouldn’t be wise to
show vulnerability.
“You really expect me to believe that you don’t know?”
Ezekiel no longer sounded amused. “Mac said he’d make sure
you knew. And one thing about Mac – he always kept his
word.” His tone was accusatory and Rory actually felt
herself squirm under his suddenly baleful gaze.
“What exactly am I supposed to know?” she replied
sharply, determined not to be put on the defensive. Her
unwelcome guest knew Mac? Had talked to him about her? It
didn’t seem possible that this encounter could become any
stranger.
Ezekiel ignored the question, a frown working over his
eyes. “He said he’d put it all down on paper so that there’d
be no misunderstandin’,” he muttered as if he were trying to
make sense of this apparent lapse on Mac’s part.
Rory realized that he could still be playing her. He
might have seen the notice of Mac’s death in the obituary
column. Her dad had listed his brother’s full name along
with the nickname that most people knew him by. But even if
this assumption were true, she still had no idea what the
intruder’s motivation could possibly be, which brought her
right back to the question of his sanity.
Okay, time was up. From her perch, she grabbed the
portable phone from its base on the side table adjacent to
the couch and dialed 911. Oh my Lord, the letter! Before
anyone could pick up, she clicked off and set the phone down
again. How on earth could she have forgotten the letter?
The one Friedlander had given her; the one that Mac wanted
her to read as soon as possible. She’d put it into the
manila envelope with the rest of the papers, but she’d been
so busy trying to tie up Mac’s affairs that she’d forgotten
to read it. It was still in the envelope on the passenger
seat of her car. It was hard to imagine any explanation
that would make sense at this point, but she had to give
Ezekiel the benefit of the doubt before turning him over to
authorities. For all she knew, Mac had given the man a key
to the house, which would at least answer one of her
questions.
“Mr. Drummond,” Rory said, rising. “I have to get
something that I left in my car. With any luck, we should
have this whole thing sorted out very soon.” She wasn’t
ready to admit that she might be at fault in this encounter.
“But I have to make sure that you stay put for the next few
minutes.”
The only door in the house that could not be opened from
the inside was the coat closet that was tucked beneath the
staircase. Rory marched her unwelcome guest across the room
to it with the gun at his back. He walked with a peculiar
gait that was jerky and poorly coordinated as if he suffered
from some neurological problem.
She opened the closet door and switched on the low
wattage bulb that illuminated the cramped space and Ezekiel,
although still clearly disgruntled, stepped inside without
argument, which in retrospect should have set off some
alarms in her head.
She retrieved the envelope from the car and took it back
inside with her. But before she sat down to read the
letter, she went back to the closet to assure her prisoner
that she would soon be letting him out.
“Mr. Drummond, are you okay? It will just be a couple
more minutes.”
There was no response.
“Mr. Drummond?”
Nothing. He couldn’t have used up the oxygen in the
closet that quickly. But if he were claustrophobic, he
might have fainted. Rory drew the gun out of her pocket
where she’d temporarily stowed it and cautiously unlocked
the closet door. It was a shallow closet, and without
clothes hanging from the single pole, it was immediately
clear that Ezekiel was no longer in there.
She spent the next twenty minutes going through the house
in search of him. She had no idea how he had managed his
escape, but it was just one more unanswerable question to
add to the growing list of them. Once she was certain that
she’d checked every conceivable place in which a man over
six feet tall might hide, she decided that he must have
slipped out of the house while she was retrieving the
letter.
She locked all the doors and windows and reset the alarm,
and when the house was as secure as she could make it, she
sat down on the couch with her gun beside her and opened
Mac’s letter.
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