~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
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
Barnes
and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-lady-of-corpewood-manor-hawk-mackinney/1113530101?ean=9781933300429
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