"Lies, lust, madness and murder combine to make the New Orleans heat just a little hotter."
Reviewed by Lynn Cunningham
Posted October 7, 2011
Thriller | Suspense
Mira Gallier had everything she wanted in life up until the
day that Hurricane Katrina struck her city of New Orleans.
She had a beautiful home, a thriving business that she loved,
and a husband she adored. Then, just like that, her life was
forever altered and there was nothing she could do to change
it. While her home still stood, her business was pulverized
and her husband missing, presumed dead. Mira was so
traumatized by all the loss, particularly that of her
husband, that she disappeared into a haze of drugs.
Now, six years later, through the help of a therapist, Mira
has been able to wean herself off the drugs and rebuild her
business through the help of a therapist and her friend,
Deni. Mira has made a name for herself as a stained glass
artist and has kept quite busy in repairing large stained
glass windows from churches that were damaged during
Katrina. She's busy but not exactly happy with her life.
Mira has never really gotten over the loss of her husband,
Jeff. It had been her idea for the two of them to stay and
ride out the hurricane so she has a severe case of
survivor's guilt. But she stays busy doing the work she
loves. That somehow makes it easier to put up with such
things as her in-laws hatred of her.
Suddenly things start get strange around her. Beginning with
the murder of a priest and the vandalism of some stained
glass windows in the same church, her life starts to spiral
in a crazy way. Mira and Deni are called in to clean up the
windows, which they do with the help of Deni's boyfriend,
Chris. The following day, a homeless man attacks Mira at her
studio and steals a necklace from Mira's neck that had been
bought for her by Jeff on their honeymoon.
The following night, Mira's sure she senses someone standing
by her bed but chalks it up to a dream when she wakes up to
no one there. That opinion changes as soon as she turns on
the lamp and finds her stolen necklace draped over the
lampshade. Other odd things follow such as smelling Jeff's
cologne and a phone call from him.
By now the police are involved because there are other
murders and they all seem to lead back to Mira. When an old
friend, Connor Scott, suddenly shows back up in her life,
she's happy to see him, having realized how few friends she
had left. In fact, Connor may be someone that can help her
move on to a happier life, if she'll only let him.
As the body count rises, it starts to become clear that
Mira, herself, may be in danger. With the police still
considering her to be a suspect rather than potential
victim, she's not sure who she can trust. On top of that,
she's begun to wonder if Jeff ever really died during
Katrina. But if that was true, where had he been the last
six years?
With one twist after another, Erica Spindler turns out yet
another spine tingling tale of her city, New Orleans. Ms.
Spindler never misses and this one is a story to lose
yourself in. If you're a fan, you'll run into some old
friends from some of her other books. Don't miss this one.
SUMMARY
In Spindler's thrilling new psychological drama, one woman's
journey to recovery becomes her worst nightmare... Before
Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, stained-glass
restoration artist Mira Gallier had it all: a thriving
business doing work she loved and an idyllic marriage to the
perfect man. But the devastating storm stole her beloved
husband his body swept away by floodwaters, never to be
found. Now, after years of pain and turmoil, it looks as if
Mira is finally on the verge of peace and emotional
stability. But her life, like the magnificent windows blown
to bits by Hurricane Katrina, is about to be shattered once
again. And this time, it's not a killer storm she faces, but
a psychopath who will stop at nothing until he possesses
her, body and soul... First, church windows that she
restored are vandalized, and the priest who looked over them
brutally murdered. Spray-painted across the glass are the
words: He Will Come to Judge the Living and the Dead. Then,
New Orleans is rocked by a terrifying chain of murders that
all seem to be linked to Mira. The police, led by homicide
detective Spencer Malone, are following a string of clues
left by the killer on each victim and beginning to wonder if
the murderer isn't Mira Gallier herself. As Mira begins to
unravel under pressure from all sides and fear for her life
it's unclear whom she can trust. And when a man from her
past appears out of nowhere, sparking something long
forgotten in her heart, he quickly becomes the police's new
prime suspect. One by one, the people in Mira's life are
targeted, until it's clear that the killer has been saving
her for last . . . and that there's nowhere left to run.
ExcerptAt any given moment, the demons could descend upon Mira
Gallier. Sometimes, she marshaled the strength to fight them
off, denying their dark,tormenting visions. Their taunts and
merciless accusations.
Other times, they overpowered her and left her scrambling
for a way to silence them. To obliterate the pain.
Last night they had come. And she had found a way to
escape. Mira lay on her side on the bed, gazing blankly at
the small rose window she had created in secret, a wedding
gift for her husband-to-be. In the tradition of
themagnificent gothic windows, she had chosen brilliant
jewel colors; her design hadbeen complex and intricate,
combining painted images within the blocks of color.
For her, the window had been a symbol of her and Jeff’s
perfect love and new, beautiful life together.
She had never imagined how quickly, how brutally, that
life would be ended.
It hurt to look at it now and Mira rolled onto her back.
Her head felt heavy;the inside of her mouth as if stuffed
with cotton.
Eleven months, three weeks and four days, shot to hell by
one small, blue, oval tablet.
What would Jeff think of her now? Even as she wondered,
she knew. He would be deeply disappointed.
But he couldn’t be more disappointed in her than she was
in herself. On the nightstand, her cell phone chirped. She
grabbed it, answered.
"Second level of hell. The tormented speaking."
"Mira? It’s Deni."
Her studio assistant and friend. Sounding puzzled.
"Who’d you expect?" she asked. "My husband?"
"That’s not funny."
It wasn’t, she acknowledged. It was angry. And sad. Jeff
was dead, and she had fallen off the wagon. Neither of which
had a damn thing to do with Deni.
"I’m sorry, I had a really bad night."
"You want to talk about it?"
The roar of water. A wall of it. As black and cold as
death , brutal and unforgiving. Jeff ’s cry resounded in her
head. Calling out for her to help him.
But she hadn’t been there. She didn’t know what that last
moment had been like. She didn’t even know if he’d had time
to cry out, to feel fear, or if he had known it was the end.
And she never would.
He was dead because of her.
"No. But thanks." The last came out automatically, what
she was supposed to say, even though gratitude was far from
what she was feeling.
"You used, didn’t you?"
No condemnation in Deni’s voice. Just pity. Still,
excuses flew to Mira’s lips, so familiar she could utter
them in her sleep. They made her sick. She was done with them.
"Yes."
For a long moment Deni was silent. When she finally
spoke, she said, "I take it I should reschedule your interview?"
"Interview?"
"With Libby Gardner. From Channel 12, the local PBS
affiliate. About the Magdalene window. She’s here."
Mira remembered then. The interview appointment. Her work
on the Magdalene restoration being included in a sixth
anniversary of Katrina series the station was planning.
"Shit. I forgot. Sorry."
"What should I tell her?"
"How about the truth? That your boss is a pill head and
basket case."
"Stop it, Mira. That’s not true."
"No?"
"You suffered a terrible loss. You turned to--"
"The whole city suffered that same freaking loss. Life
goes on, sweetheart."
She spoke the words harshly, their brutality
self-directed. "The strong thrive and the weak turn to Xanax."
"That’s such bullshit." Deni sounded hurt. "I’ll see if
she can reschedule--"
"No. Get started with her. Explain how the window ended
up in our care, describe the process, show her around. By
the time you’ve done that, I’ll be there."
"Mira--"
She cut her assistant off. "I’ll be in shortly. We can
talk then."
Mira ended the call and hurried to the kitchen. She fixed
herself a cup of strong coffee then headed toward the
bathroom. When she caught sight of her reflection in the
vanity mirror, she froze. She looked like crap. Worse even.
The circles under her hazel eyes were so dark, her pale skin
looked ghostly in comparison. She was too thin--her copper
red hair like the flame atop a matchstick.
She wore one of her husband’s old tees as a nightshirt:
Geaux Saints the front proclaimed. Mira trailed her fingers
over the faded print. Jeff hadn’t lived long enough to see
his beloved NFL team win the Super Bowl.
It’s your fault he’s dead, Mira, the voice in her head
whispered. You convinced him to stay. Remember what you
said? "It’ll be an adventure, Jeff. A story we can share
with our children and grandchildren."
The air conditioner kicked on. Cold air from the vent
above her head raised goosebumps on her arms and the back of
her neck. No, she told herself. That was bullshit. Isn’t
that what her shrink, Dr. Jasper, had told her? Jeff had
been a fifty percent partner in the decision. If he had felt
strongly they should leave, he would have said so.
His family blamed her. Her and Jeff’s friends had been
subtle in their accusations-- she read condemnation in their
eyes.
She stared helplessly at her reflection. The problem was,
she blamed herself.
No matter what her shrink said or what the facts were.
She moved her gaze over the destruction of her
bathroom--drawers emptied, make-up bags and carry-ons rifled
through.
As if thieves had broken in and turned her home upside
down in search of valuables.
But she had done this. She was the thief. And the eleven
months, three weeks and four days she had robbed herself of
couldn’t be replaced.
Her cell phone went off. She saw it was Deni--no doubt
calling to say the reporter had taken a hike. "Pissed off
another one, didn’t I?" she answered.
"Something really bad’s happened, Mira."
She pressed the device tighter to her ear. "What?"
"It’s Father Girod, he’s . . . dead. He was murdered."
An image of the kindly old priest filled her head. He had
approached her after Katrina about his church’s stained
glass windows, decimated by the storm. In the process of
restoring the twelve panels, she and the father had become
friends.
Grief choked her. "Oh, my God. Who could have . . . When
did--"
"There’s more, Mira." Deni’s voice shook. "Whoever did it
also vandalized the windows."
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