The Misremembered Lighthouse (A Hayley Hunter Mystery Book 2) by p.m. terrell Book Tour with Guest Post & Giveaway

 

THE MISREMEMBERED LIGHTHOUSE

p.m. terrell

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GENRE:  Mystery

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BLURB:

While researching her next book, historian and author Hayley Hunter rents a lighthouse in Southeastern North Carolina. The modern lighthouse and vacation home replaced an original wood structure that only functioned during the Revolutionary War. The old lighthouse may be long gone, but the lightkeeper’s ghost remains.

Hayley becomes increasingly obsessed with finding why the spirit of Jonathan Corbyn lingers between realms. Joined by her lover Shay MacGregor, her search will take her into a world of spies, double agents, and espionage at the dawn of American democracy.

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EXCERPT

With the moonroof slid back, I could glance upward and see the branches intertwined as if they were people grasping outstretched fingers. A sudden surge of apprehension washed over me. The wipers came on, though there was no rain.

“What the—?” Mom said, glancing down. She made a motion to turn off the wipers, but they were already off.

As we plunged more deeply into the grove of trees, the air felt as if it was swirling around us. I nervously watched the speedometer gain speed and wished the wipers would stop their frantic pulsing across the dry windshield. When I glanced back at the road, only a few yards away, a man dangled from a tree.

“Stop!” I screamed. The car fishtailed as her foot slammed on the brakes. We came to a complete stop just feet from where he hung. Behind us, I could hear the screech of tires as Shay barely avoided rear-ending us.

The wipers swept to the left and then back to the right before coming to rest. Time seemed to have slowed. He was facing away from us, his wrists tied together behind him, the rope trailing toward his feet, which were clad in heavy black boots with dirty black pants tucked into them. A dusty red coat swayed in the breeze as if the front was unbuttoned. And as my eyes traveled upward, I saw his hair. It was deep auburn and long, reaching past his shoulders. It had been drawn into a ponytail, but the strands had come loose, so the material that once bound them appeared ready to slide off.

“What the hell?” Mom shouted.

I stared at her. “Don’t you see him?” I shouted back in panic.

“Who?”

I looked back through the windshield. He was gone.

A tap on Mom’s window caused us both to nearly jump out of our seats. As she rolled down the window, Shay asked, “Are you two okay now?”

“I am,” Mom retorted. “She isn’t.” She turned to me. “Get out of my car. You nearly killed us.”

“I did not!”

“Get out!”

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Guest Post:

Topic: Do your characters seem to hijack the story or do you feel like you have the reins of the story? That’s an interesting question! It turns out to be a little of both. When I commit to a story, I determine the beginning, the middle, and the end. The middle tends to be the place where some writers slump, so I create a pivot point that pulls together everything that has happened so far and then hurdles toward the climactic scene like a roller coaster. However, when I get into the nuts and bolts, I find the characters become personalities of their own. Minor characters often become integral parts of the plot, such as Hayley Hunter’s mother, who appears unexpectedly at the lighthouse, or Beckett, a mysterious young man who works in his father’s general store at the isolated village closest to the lighthouse. I also often find scenes taking on lives of their own, such as when Hayley and her Irish boyfriend, Shay, attempt to find a family cemetery in the swamps near the lighthouse. By this point, they already know the lighthouse is haunted, but they are about to discover there is more than one ghost. Here is the scene: He shone his light on the footpath, found another print, and followed it. I stayed so close behind him that I thought I’d walk right over him if he hesitated. I was afraid to blink, concerned I would miss a key clue, and anxious that I could become lost. I found myself pondering how long it had taken us to reach the cemetery. I seemed to recall that Shay had said we’d walk for no more than fifteen or twenty minutes, but I couldn’t remember whether we’d adhered to that plan. All I knew was that retracing our steps felt infinitely longer than finding the cemetery. A few yards from where we stood, the trees rustled, and we froze in unison, both our attentions riveted on the swaying branches. While the trees around them remained immobile, the area we focused on undulated from top to bottom. Without a word, Shay stepped out again with a renewed purpose, and I struggled to keep up. Another bird broke through the tops of the trees. I realized immediately that it was a turkey vulture. Its wingspan must have been five feet across, and as I stared upward, I saw the swath of distinctive light gray feathers splayed against the darker ones. Something caught my attention beneath the vulture, and a dark shadow emerged as I tore my eyes away from the bird. Whatever it was, it was semi-translucent. My feet became anchored to the soft, swampy soil as my brain struggled to make sense of what my eyes had registered. “Hayley,” Shay hissed. “Hayley!” I turned my head to him. My hand had lost its grip on his shirt, and he was reaching out for me. “Don’t stop,” he ordered. “Are you understanding me?” I nodded. I grasped his shirt again and forced my leaden feet to move forward. As I stumbled along the uneven ground, I fought to remain focused on the footpath. My eyes, however, wanted to stray in an attempt to see the shadow again, as if I could avoid an attack by witnessing the strange apparition. I began to sense the presence of evil as a chill inched up my spine despite the warm and humid day. The hair along my forearms was erect and rigid, as if a static charge had prickled them. I swung my head in an attempt to see behind me, just as an exposed root tripped me up. I might have fallen had Shay not yanked me upward and forward. I heard ragged breathing mounting around me. Confused, I wondered whether it was my breath, Shay’s, or a third and sinister presence. When events occur out of the ordinary, it is as if the brain cannot register or process them. I tried to place the animalistic sound, the shadow, and the breathing into a neatly formed, identifiable box in my brain, but none of it would fit, like pieces of several mismatched puzzles. As we continued moving forward, I became increasingly disengaged from my body, moving ahead robotically, my feet disconnected from anything resembling my mind.

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:

My full name is Patricia McClelland Terrell, and I have been writing under the pen name p.m.terrell ever since a publisher presented me with my first fiction book cover. The graphic designer had also entered my name in lower-case letters; my editor hated it, and I loved it. It’s been p.m.terrell ever since.

I began writing when I was nine years old, inspired by a schoolteacher and elementary school principal. Scott-Foresman published my first book, a computer instructional for universities, in 1984. Scott-Foresman, Dow-Jones (Richard D. Irwin branch), Palari Publishing, Paralee Press, and Drake Valley Press have published 26 books to date.

Before embarking on a full-time writing career, I founded McClelland Enterprises, Inc. in the Washington, D.C. area in 1984, specializing in computer instruction for employees in the workplace. I opened another business, Continental Software Development Corporation, in 1994, which focused on custom application development, programming, website design and development, and computer crime.

I was honored to be the first female President of the Chesterfield County/Colonial Heights Crime Solvers. I also served as the Treasurer for the Virginia Crime Stoppers Association. Since moving to North Carolina, I served on the Robeson County Friends of the Library and Robeson County Arts Council. 

I launched The Book ‘Em Foundation with Waynesboro, Virginia Police Officer Mark Kearney, and assisted in Virginia, New Hampshire, and South Carolina events before establishing the Annual Book ‘Em North Carolina Writers Conference and Book Fair, chairing it for several years before turning it over to Robeson Community College in Lumberton, NC.

Links:

Website: https://pmterrell.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pmterrell.author/

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-misremembered-lighthouse/id6749962807

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-misremembered-lighthouse-pm-terrell/1148042055 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FM4D9YTB

All other eBook formats: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1832068

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GIVEAWAY

p.m. terrell will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

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