Naomi Vogler
blames herself for her mother's tragic death, continually reliving the accident
in her nightmares. When she reconnects
with her estranged father, he invites her to live with him in a little town
called Witchfire. A simple job stocking
shelves overnight at a local grocery store seems a perfect distraction. But when the manager of the store is found
dead in the boiler room, Naomi's boring job becomes something much more
complicated. No matter how she looks at
it, one thing is certain: retail is murder.
Excerpt:
The leaves on the oak trees rustled in a
slight breeze. It was a mild summer
day. Naomi had foregone traditional
dress for a black tank top and a pair of blue jeans and sandals.
“We are
gathered here today to mourn the loss of a beloved friend and mother.”
Naomi stared
down at her feet. She wasn’t really
listening to the pastor. She couldn’t
help but think that it was a little silly that someone who didn’t really know
her mother was leading the ceremony. She
felt eyes on her back. Everyone was watching
her. She was standing apart from the
others. After a while, she began to
notice that one man in particular was looking in her direction. He watched her with solemn, sorrowful eyes,
his hands clasped over his black suit jacket.
After the
funeral, Naomi went and stood in the parking lot. She made a point to avoid everyone. They came up to her and said a whole lot of
things that she didn’t really hear. They
told her that it wasn’t her fault, but she didn’t believe them. They asked her if she was really going away,
if the Penn Foundation was where she really thought she should be. It was what the psychiatrist at the police
station had suggested, but Naomi wasn’t bound to it. The law couldn’t tell her what to do; they
insisted that she was innocent, a mere bystander.
The man who
had been watching her walked up beside her.
“Hello,” he said. The greeting
sounded forced, as though he were afraid of her.
Naomi eyed
him suspiciously. “Hi. Do I know you?”
The crowd was
dispersing. There was a discomfort in
the air that was almost palpable. The
man beside Naomi shrugged. “You did know
me, once.” He caught her gaze and stared
at her. He appeared as though he were on
the verge of tears. “Do you need a place
to live? I have plenty of room.”
“Who are
you?” Naomi took a step back. Part of
her already knew who he was; the rest of her didn’t want to believe it.
The man
smiled weakly, his first attempt to comfort her. Then he spoke, and it was clear that he was
afraid of her reaction. “I’m your father.”
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