{"product_id":"southern-ghost-isbn-9780553562750","title":"Southern Ghost","description":"Annie Darling, owner of the Death on Demand bookstore, is shocked to hear talk about her husband, Max, and a beautiful blonde. By the time she’s faced down a hostile police chief and bailed Max out of the Chastain, South Carolina, jail, the lady has vanished and Max is the prime suspect in an unspecified crime. The baffling, bloodstained trail leads straight to the doorstep of Tarrant House, home of the venerable Southern family with a violent history dating back to the Revolution—and ghosts of a far more recent vintage.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Annie and Max find that the dignified façade of Tarrant House hides a hotbed of deadly passions as the family turns on itself in a mayhem of murderous motives and angry accusations. But in the end Annie must summon all her sleuthing skills to stop a desperate killer who is ready to strike again to keep the secrets that haunt the Tarrants from the light of day. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eSouthern Ghost \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Tantalizing . . . keep[s] the reader guessing all the way.”\u003cb\u003e—The Denver Post\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Pleasing . . . chillingly effective…remarkably satisfying.”\u003cb\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Annie and Max] make one of the most attractive pairs of sleuths since Dashiell Hammett’s Nick and Nora Charles.”\u003cb\u003e—Chicago Sun-Times\u003c\/b\u003eAn accomplished master of mystery, \u003cb\u003eCarolyn Hart\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of more than fifty-five novels of mystery and suspense including the Bailey Ruth Ghost Novels and the Death on Demand Mysteries. Her books have won multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards. She has also been honored with the Amelia Award for significant contributions to the traditional mystery from Malice Domestic and was named a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America. One of the founders of Sisters in Crime, Hart lives in Oklahoma City, where she enjoys mysteries, walking in the park, and cats. She and her husband, Phil, serve as staff—cat owners will understand—to brother and sister brown tabbies.Chapter 1.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Had he lived to be an old man, Ross Tarrant’s face, stripped of every vestige of youth and joy, would have looked much as it did in that last hour: brooding pain-filled eyes deep-sunken, grayish skin stretched taut over prominent cheekbones, finely chiseled lips pressed hard to prevent a telltale tremor.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Slumped wearily in the battered old morris chair, a man’s chair in a man’s retreat, he stared at the pistol, horror flickering in his eyes like firelight against a night sky.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The sound of the motor reached him first, then the crunch of tires against the oyster shells.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The door was locked.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e But it was no ultimate defense.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Ross knew that.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e As the throb of the engine died and a car door slammed, Ross reached for the gun.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Ross.” A commanding voice. A voice he knew from childhood, from crisp winter mornings when the men zigzagged across a field and lifted shotguns to fire at the flushed quail.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The gun was heavy. So heavy. Ross willed away the unsteadiness of his hand.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e He was Ross Tarrant.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e His mouth twisted bitterly.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Perhaps not an officer and a gentleman.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e But he was Ross Tarrant, and he would not shirk his duty.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e At the first knock on the door, the gun roared.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 2.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Sybil Chastain Giacomo would always catch men’s glances and inflame their senses. Especially when the unmistakable light burned in her eyes and she moved sensually, a woman clearly hungering for a man.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Always, it was a young man.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e But, passion spent, the latest youth sprawled asleep beside her, Sybil slipped from beneath the satin sheets, drew the brocaded dressing gown around her voluptuous body, and prowled restlessly through the dark house, anger a hot scarlet thread through the black misery in her heart.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Chapter 3.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Despite the fitful gleam of the pale April moon, Tarrant House was almost completely hidden in the deep shadows of the towering live oaks. A wisp of breeze barely stirred the long, dangling wisps of Spanish moss. A single light shone from a second-story window, providing a glimpse of plastered brick and a portion of one of the four huge Corinthian columns that supported the elegant double piazzas and the pediment above.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Pressed against the cold iron railing of the fence, the young woman shivered. The night pulsed with movement—unseen, inimical, hostile. The magnolia leaves slapped, like the tap of a woman’s shoes down an uncarpeted hall. The fronds of the palmettos clicked like ghostly dice at some long-ago gaming board. The thick shadows, pierced occasionally by pale moonbeams, took the shape of hurrying forms that responded to no call. She stood alone and alien in a shrouded, dark world that knew nothing of her—and cared nothing for her. The scent of magnolia and honeysuckle and banana shrub cloyed the air, thick as perfume from a flower-strewn coffin.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Ohoooh!”\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Courtney Kimball drew her breath in sharply as the falling moan, tremulous and plaintive, sounded again; then, her eyes adjusted to the night, she saw the swoop of the owl as it dove for its prey. One moment a tiny creature moved and lived; the next a scratching, scrabbling sound signaled sudden death.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e But nothing could hold her gaze long except the house, famed as one of the Low Country’s loveliest Greek Revival mansions, home for generation after generation of Tarrants.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The House.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e That’s how she always thought of it.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The House that held all the secrets and whose doors were barred to her.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Courtney gazed at the House with unforgiving eyes.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e She was too young to know that some secrets are better left hid.","brand":"Crimeline","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300367651045,"sku":"NP9780553562750","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553562750.jpg?v=1767737013","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/southern-ghost-isbn-9780553562750","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}