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Two months in the spotlight change Kylah McKinley’s life forever. Falsely accused of murdering her husband Ted, she learns through past life regressions that she’s the reincarnation of Alice Kyteler, a Druid who lived in 14th century Ireland. Major events in her life parallel Alice’s.
Someone tried to kill Kylah along with Ted in a hit-and-run. Who can hate them both this much? Her journeys to the past as Alice give her the answer.
As Kylah’s trial date approaches and she fights to maintain her innocence, she must learn from her past or forever be doomed to repeat it.
Kylah shut Ted’s den door. She couldn’t bear to look at the spot where he gasped his last breath. His presence, an imposing force, lingered. So did his scent, a blend of pine aftershave, manly sweat, and marijuana. His essence echoed his personality all over the house: the heap of dirty shirts, shorts and socks piled up in the laundry room, the spattered stove, his fingerprints on the microwave. But she couldn’t bring herself to clean any of it up. Painful as these remnants were, they offered a strange comfort. He still lived here.
Each reminder ripped into her heart like a knife. Especially now with the funeral looming ahead, the eulogies, the mournful organ hymns, the tolling bells…
These ceremonies should bring closure, but they’d only prolong the agony of her grief. She wanted to remember him alive for a while longer. Oh, if only she could delay these morbid customs until the hurt subsided.
“I’ll find that murdering bastard, Teddy,” she promised him over and over, wandering from room to empty room, traces of him lurking in every corner. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure justice is served. Another past life regression isn’t enough anymore. I know what I have to do now. And I promise, it will never, ever happen again—in any future life.” She inhaled and breathed him in. “Go take a shower, Teddy.” She chuckled through her tears as the doorbell rang. Cringing, she broke out in cold sweat at the sight of the black sedan at the curb. “Not again.”
No sense in hiding. She let Detectives Munn and Egan in.
“Mrs. McKinley, we need your permission to do a search and take some of your husband’s possessions from the house,” Munn said.
“What for?” She met his steely stare. “I looked everywhere and found nothing.”
“Mrs. McKinley, the cupboard door was open, four jars of herbs are missing, and the autopsy showed he died of herb poisoning. Those herbs,” Munn added for emphasis, as if it had slipped her feeble mind. “Foxglove, mandrake, hemlock—and an as-yet unidentified one,” he read from a report. “The M.E. determined it was a lethal dose.”
Sherlock Holmes got nothin’ on him.
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