Witches weren’t burned in colonial Virginia. They were hanged. But in the twenty-first century no one should be hanged from the trees of historic Williamsburg. Not even batty conspiracy theorists, however much Jean Fairbairn’s significant other, ex-Scottish cop Alasdair Cameron, might sometimes wish he could pass judgment. Especially when said dingbats may be involved in the theft of a Williamsburg-crafted replica of a sixteenth-century Witch Box, stolen from a Scottish castle for which Alasdair has been supervising security—even though the original Witch Box is safe in a Williamsburg museum. The Charm Stone went missing from the original Witch Box three hundred years ago. Perhaps it was not a traditional healing stone at all but a cursing stone. Perhaps it was lost somewhere in the colony of Virginia. Perhaps someone will kill to find it. Can Jean maintain her resolve to abandon the academic battlefield forever, or will she be tempted back into combat by an appealing former colleague, Matthew Frost? And what about Alasdair, who is supposedly retired from the rigors of law enforcement, but who is now confronted not only by a theft but two murder cases—and by Stephanie Venegas, the detective in charge? Amid the falling leaves and autumn shadows, Jean and Alasdair must deal again with murder most grotesque, its roots deep in history and myth. With ghosts only they can see. With things going bump in the night of their own relationship. It’s All Hallows Eve in historic Williamsburg, Virginia....
--This text refers to the
Paperback
edition.
A child of the American heartland, Lillian Stewart Carl graduated from grade school in Missouri, from high school in Ohio, and from college in Texas. She should have a Bachelor of Arts in History, but inadvertently found herself with a Bachelor of Science in Education. Either way, she's now pursuing one of the few jobs that can be done with a background in history and English--writing fiction that invokes a legendary past, even in contemporary settings.
It's no surprise that Lillian and her long-suffering husband have wandered countless British single-track roads, from Orkney to Dover and back again. Also, just for variety, she has excavated the Biblical city of Gezer in Israel, worn a pink and mauve sari to a wedding in Hyderabad, India, searched for Middle Earth in New Zealand, and sung "Waltzing Matilda" in a haunted cottage in the Australian outback.
Being generally a mild-mannered individual, Lillian has yet to throw anyone across the room with her tai chi skills. Nor has she stabbed anyone with her knitting needles or slammed anyone's fingers except her own in the cover of her piano keyboard.
