The Lady of Corpsewood Manor, Book 4 of
the Craige Ingram Mystery Series
by Hawk
MacKinney
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
In
the spacious den of Moccasin Hollow, his ancestral South Carolina home,
part-time PI, exNavy SEAL Craige Ingram examines a platinum brooch designed
like a dragonfly inside a jeweler’s box that he has discovered at the crime
scene of Corpsewood Manor. It is a
remarkable piece of art…its wings and body worked in exceptional detail.
Focusing toward the expected bulbous round eyes, his suspicions jar full
throttle. Instead of a head, the empty sockets of a skull leer at him. His gut
feelin’s tell him his SEAL buddy Grayson MacGerald’s investigation is
considerably more than arson and a double murder trying to hide the theft of
classic automobiles. The smoldering rubble of secluded Corpsewood Manor leads
Ingram and another of their SEAL Team, Colorado Aspen ski buddy Spinner
Krespinak, into a seedy tangle of smuggling crisscrossed and an unexpected
encounter with a dead assassin from one of Spinner’s “closed” cases.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Slewing grit
and gravel, Randall’s pride-and-joy pick’em-up truck skidded into the crowded
side-street parking lot. Jammed on the
brakes; smoked rubber on the four new tires he’d put on yesterday. Broad-shouldered Randall flung open his door
and jumped out, his buddy close behind, motor still running. The two of them made a soccer sprint for the
side entrance of the local all-night Early Bird Breakfast & BBQ
Eatery. Slammed through the double doors
between the two dining areas. Nigh onto
every face among the usual before-sunup breakfast crowd of packed tables and
booths turned in the direction of his crash and thud. Most ever’body recognized wild-spirited high
school senior rambunctious soccer stud Randall McClure. Randall looked around; spotted the uniforms;
hurried up to the table; blurted, "...Sheriff Doogie! Better get parish fire trucks out to
Corpsewood Manor…and quick!"
Tall, robust,
soft-spoken Doogle “Doogie” Eubanks had about seen and heard it all…done a good
deal of the seein’ and hearin’ hisself.
Born in Summerville in the north Georgia Mountains, graduated from the
University of Bulldog Georgia. Married
the first cuddly thing he'd had fumbling sex with…his high school sweetheart
from Frog Holler. It was a solid
pairing…some ups and downs, but solid.
Thirteen years with the Georgia Highway Patrol, the last five cruising
I-20 between Atlanta, Madison, and Thomson, sometimes farther down the road to
the east. After those thirteen years
Doogie had the hankerin’s for settling down about the same time his
mother-in-law got sick with the beginnings of what would eventually take her. To make it easier for the wife to be near her
mother, Doogie requested a transfer, and about the same time got a good offer
with a sizable raise from the patrol division of Aiken County, South Carolina
Sheriff’s Office. Took the South
Carolina promotion and sizable bump up in his paycheck.
Moved the family
to Beech Island down the deceptively lazy river dividing South Carolina and
Georgia. Found a spread he liked
southeast of Hamburg not far from Ingram property and Moccasin Hollow.
Coffee cup
halted between saucer and mouth, Sheriff Doogie shoved back his plate of
home-fried ham and scrambled eggs. Put
down his hot biscuit layered with fresh churned butter and homemade blackberry
jam. Leveled a steady gaze at the two gangly
high schoolers. “Okay…” voice steady,
easy drawl unhurried, “What’d you about-to-be-high-school-graduate big shot
young bucks do this time? Get some cheap
beer; start a fire to roast s’mores…fire get out’a hand?”
“We didn’t
start no fires.”
Sheriff said,
“I’m trying to finish my breakfast. Only
decent meal me’n and the deputies here might get until suppertime, and we…”
Like he
hadn’t been raised right not to butt in, Randall interrupted like the sheriff
wasn’t talking, “Fire’s done spread back in the thick undergrowth. Ain’t no brush pile fire neither. Old stand of pulpwood pines done crowned
somethin’ fierce…big heart of pines smokin’.”
"Randall..."
Sheriff raised his voice.
Randall kept
right on, "...flames shootin' out ever’where…roof, windows…top to
bottom."
Stout Deputy
Rolston Kearny said, "What you talking about?" knife in one hand,
butter and marmalade-smeared cornbread in the other.
Randall said,
"Early ‘fore sunup we were in that deer stand Papa and Uncle Ezrah
built.” Words stumbling faster, “Hour or
so after we got there, we heard what sounded to be gunshots over toward
Corpsewood. One sounded like a
shotgun. Others were heavier, maybe a
huntin’ rifle. Didn't think nothing
about it at the time. Figured it to be
hunters. Couldn't been much more'n half
hour after that we smelled smoke. First
smelled like cedar and grass smoke; got thicker, an’ wadn’t no grass or
hay-fire smell. Turned bad smelling,
like an oil fire or burning rubber or electrical stuff. Spooked the deer. Does, couple of bucks, yearling fawns all
hightailing the same direction right under our stand. Come an’ gone before an eye could blink. Smoke got real thick… hardly no wind except a
few light now-and-then breezes. We
climbed down. Decided we better take a
look-see. Didn’t want to be caught in a
fire. Hadn’t gone no distance before we
spotted flames shootin’ above the trees.
Tops of the flames pushing up into what was left of low-hanging river
fog."
“Randall…slow
down.” Doogie had been in law
enforcement long enough not to be rattled easy, but he’d seen runaway crown fires
eat whole mountainsides faster than man or animal could run. Moving fast in all that dry brush and thick
pine mats, a fire was alive. Go through
anything in its way. "What in
tarnation you talkin' about?"
"Corpsewood
Manor...I been tryin’ to tell you, the whole place is a goner from the roof to
the cellars. Flames roaring out the
whole front, trees burnin'. Didn’t see
nobody. Anyone still inside Corpsewood
Manor is a goner.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
With
postgraduate degrees and faculty appointments in several medical universities,
Hawk MacKinney has taught graduate courses in both the United States and
Jerusalem. In addition to professional articles and texts on chordate
neuroembryology, Hawk has authored several works of fiction.
Hawk began
writing mysteries for his school newspaper. His works of fiction, historical
love stories, science fiction and mystery-thrillers are not genre-centered, but
plot-character driven, and reflect his southwest upbringing in Arkansas, Texas
and Oklahoma. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel nominated for the prestigious
Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes
Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his serial protagonist in the
Craige Ingram Mystery Series… murder and mayhem with a touch of romance. Vault
of Secrets, the first book in the Ingram series, was followed by Nymrod
Resurrection, Blood and Gold, and The Lady of Corpsewood Manor. All have
received national attention. Hawk’s
latest release in the Ingram series is due out this fall with another
mystery-thriller work out in 2014. The Bleikovat Event, the first volume in The
Cairns of Sainctuarie science fiction series, was released in 2012.
"Without
question, Hawk is one of the most gifted and imaginative writers I have had the
pleasure to represent. His reading fans have something special to look forward
to in the Craige Ingram Mystery Series. Intrigue, murder, deception and
conspiracy--these are the things that take Hawk's main character, Navy
ex-SEAL/part-time private investigator Craige Ingram, from his South Carolina
ancestral home of Moccasin Hollow to the dirty backrooms of the nation's
capital and across Europe and the Middle East."
Barbara
Casey, President
Barbara Casey
Literary Agency
www.hawkmackinney.net
