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    The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah
    The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah
    The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah
    Ebook74 pages1 hour

    The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah

    By Evelyn David

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    About this ebook

    Psychic Brianna Sullivan is still in Lottawatah, Oklahoma in Volume 2 of this mystery series. In "The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah," a novella length story, she's being pestered by the ghostly ex-girlfriend of main squeeze Detective Cooper Jackson. The spirit won't move away from Cooper and towards the light until Brianna figures out who killed her.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEvelyn David
    Release dateNov 3, 2010
    ISBN9781452341361
    The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah
    Author

    Evelyn David

    The author of Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake, Evelyn David is the pseudonym for Marian Edelman Borden and Rhonda Dossett. Marian lives in New York and is the author of ten nonfiction books on a wide variety of topics ranging from veterans benefits to playgroups for toddlers! Rhonda lives in Muskogee, Oklahoma, is the director of the coal program for the state, and in her spare time enjoys imagining and writing funny, scary mysteries. Marian and Rhonda write their mystery series via the internet. While many fans who attend mystery conventions have now chatted with both halves of Evelyn David, Marian and Rhonda have yet to meet in person.

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      Book preview

      The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah - Evelyn David

      Brianna Sullivan Mystery Stories

      Volume 2

      The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah

      Evelyn David

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2010 Evelyn David

      Discover other titles by Evelyn David at http://www.evelyndavid.com

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Chapter 1

      It was already 92 degrees, but according to Mutt Jeffrey, the gravel-voiced host of the morning drive show, Lottawatah Live, we didn't have much of a chance of beating the all-time record of 120 degrees, set in 1930. He sounded disappointed.

      I had my own Loretta Lynn, he-done-me-wrong song to sing. It was the fifth day in a row that I'd woken up alone in my bed in Matilda, my 30-foot motor home. Cooper Jackson, my sort-of boyfriend, hadn't shown up or even called for the last two days. Cooper was the main reason I was still hanging around Lottawatah, Oklahoma, population 1452 living souls and a couple of dozen in spirit-world transit. I'd met more than a few of those since I'd arrived in town.

      I'm Brianna Sullivan and I'm a psychic. But I must not be a very good one because I'd had zero visions about being dumped. On the other hand, I didn't need any ghosts to help me read those tea leaves. I'd had plenty of practice.

      Checking my cell phone for any messages, I found a big, fat zero. Still, reception was sketchy at best in the Lake Eufaula Campgrounds, so maybe he tried to call, but couldn't get through. Or maybe pigs could fly and I wouldn't have to drive the 500 miles to San Antonio, Texas. I'd sort of made up my mind that when it was time to blow this popsicle stand–when I'd saved up enough gas money–I wanted to visit the Alamo, maybe have a chat with Davy Crockett...or at least Fess Parker.

      I stared into my refrigerator, trying to conjure up some milk for my bowl of raisin bran. But I was a psychic, not an alchemist and was unable to transform a bottle of half-done pickles into a quart of skim milk. Breakfast was going to have to wait until I got to the office. I headed to the shower.

      Milk's on special for 75 cents a quart this week.

      I whirled around, coming face-to-face with a young woman of about 18, wearing a Safeway supermarket checkout uniform. She had on a pair of black, lace-up Doc Marten shoes. I recognized the style. I'd pestered my mother to buy me a pair and she kept refusing, saying that only ditch diggers wore them. But my mother didn't know much about fashion, hers or mine. And I doubt she'd ever met a ditch digger.

      Martha was on her name badge. There was a neat bullet hole right next to it with a ring of old blood permanently staining the uniform smock. Bet Martha would have had to pay for a replacement, if she weren't dead.

      Even without the slightly bloody uniform, I knew she was a ghost because you could sorta see through her. She wasn't exactly transparent, but there wasn't much meat on Martha's bones, as my mother would say. I could see that she had a big bruise on her forehead.

      I tried to guess how long she'd been dead. I had a couple of clues. First, Homeland Supermarkets had taken over almost all the Safeway Stores in the area about 15 years earlier.

      Sometimes I try to use a ghost's hair style as a guide to when she had departed this world, but that's always iffy. Martha was a blonde, a result of both birth and the overuse of some cheap bleach. Her hair was shoulder length, but cut short and feathered on top. So maybe Martha had been alive in the early 1980s. But hairstyles aren't a reliable dating device. I'd seen too many live women in Lottawatah still walking around with a 1950s beehive.

      The real tell was the price of milk. A quart costs almost twice as much today. I'm guessing Martha had been planted about 20 years give or take a few.

      You know you're dead, right? I always like the direct approach with ghosts.

      Instead of answering me, Martha put her hand over her bullet-riddled heart and intoned: Wisk will get rid of ring around the collar, and for only $2.59 a bottle.

      Hell, it was another of those ghost riddles that spirits like. No straight answers to obvious questions. I was late for work and hungry. Not in the mood to play games. I cut to the chase.

      What do you want me to do?

      Martha started to fade, but before the last wisp of blonde hair disappeared, she breathed, Cooper will know what to do. Tell him.

      I sank down on my Lazy-Boy recliner. Cooper? My Cooper? He knew this girl? The one with the bullet in her heart. I think the deputy had a lot of explaining to do and not just about where he'd been the last few days.

      ***

      If you do a deal with the

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