Christine Presents: Danita Cahill and Mist

Please welcome Danita Cahill author of Mist.

It’s Thanksgiving, but the Roseland community doesn’t feel particularly thankful. Not when citizens of their Oregon coastal town keep disappearing. Is it aliens? A serial killer? Or a pack of evil, red-eyed dogs? Detective Kevin McCoffey is determined to solve the case.

When young, widowed photographer, Dianne Harris and her infant daughter find themselves face to face with the killer, Kevin races to yank them to safety. But is he too late? With help from both the town’s fortuneteller and the ghost of Dianne’s dead grandmother, Kevin and Dianne battle their own demons and their shared past history as they rush to save Dianne’s baby from the killer’s grip.

Author’s note – I started writing this book a month after my mother’s death. It was my way of moving through grief and healing. When my grandmother died years ago, I got stuck in the grieving process and had a hard time moving forward with life. My hope with this thriller novel is that it not only entertains, but helps others push through the tough days, weeks and months after losing a loved one.

There may be evil red eyes in the mist, but there is also light at the end of the tunnel.                   – Danita Cahill –

  I strain my ears to listen. The barking again. Is it getting closer?                               

  Something else. In the distance. A crunching sound. What is that?

  I check my mirrors. Search outside the windows. But the fog is so dense now, I can’t make out anything further than three or four feet beyond my vehicle.

  The crunching is getting louder. Closer. My heart jumps into my throat. Perspiration dampens my palms. Is it the dogs?

  I search my rearview mirror. Only thick white air. Nothing else.

  Wait. What’s this? A light. Drawing closer. No, make that two lights. And still the crunching sound. Wet crunching.

  Tires over a rain-soaked gravel road.

  My heart settles back down. It’s an approaching vehicle, although not loud enough or heavy enough to be a tow truck. It crunches to a halt behind me. A door opens and closes. Footsteps.

   Who could it be?

  What if it’s the Roseland serial killer come to grab Megan and me? My heart beats staccato again.

  The footfalls draw nearer. Not daring to breathe, I stare straight ahead. I don’t want to make eye contact until I know who it is and what they want.

  A dark form appears at my window. I can see it with my peripheral vision.  The form bends at the waist. A face appears, so close that the person’s breath clouds the glass. My heart pounds harder.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am. Do you need some assistance?”

  The pattern of my heartbeats change from stark fear to something lighter, giddier; like the slap of a child’s salt-water sandals running over hard-packed sand. “Kevin!” Am I ever glad to see him. I can’t roll down my window without power, so I fling open the door.

  It catches him in the shin.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  Kevin holds his lower leg and groans.

  “Oh, Kevin. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s…fine…really,” he says through clenched teeth. He lets go of his leg, straightens with a grimace and forces a smile. “Injuries are expected in the line of duty.”

  Duty? Is that how he thinks of me now, as a duty?

  “Are you alright?” he asks. “Your message sounded scared.”
   Damn skippy I was scared. Still am. I glance in all three mirrors. The dogs and their red, glowing eyes are nowhere in sight. I don’t want Kevin thinking me a nut case, so I don’t bring up the dogs.

  I feel safer with a cop nearby, although sitting here with my door ajar and Kevin standing outside in the open still makes me jittery. I keep my right hand tucked in my lap so he won’t see the bloody napkins wrapping my thumb. “I’m okay. I ran out of gas. Stupid, I know.”

“It happens all the time,” Kevin says. “I don’t have a gas can with me, but I’ll go get one and fill it. You and Megan can ride along so you don’t have to wait here in the cold. Besides, I don’t want you getting hit if someone drives up too fast. With this fog, I couldn’t see your SUV until I was right on top of you.”

  Kevin on top of me. Now that conjures up all sorts of erotic images. My face heats. I clear my throat. “Thanks for the offer, but there’s a tow service on the way.”

  I should tell him about the dogs. 

  “No problem.” Kevin crinkles his chin and looks deep into my eyes. “You sure everything’s alright?”

 I decide to come clean. “Well, there are these d…”      

 Kevin’s cell rings. He pulls the phone from its holder on his belt and answers. Kevin holds his hand over the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. You’re positive you’re alright?”

I look up into Kevin’s familiar gold-brown eyes. “I’m okay.” At this precise moment, with him standing guard, I really mean it.

   He turns to leave. Stops. Hesitates. Spins back around. He leans down into my open doorway and kisses me full on the mouth. His lips are warm and firm against mine.

  “Oh,” I say when he draws away. “What was that for?” My lips tingle where his lips touched mine. 

  “For luck.” Kevin vanishes behind me into the mist. His headlights spear into the fog then disappear as he turns his patrol car around and speeds away.

  Kevin knows I don’t believe in luck. But the kiss was nice. The lip tingling spreads, sending pleasant ripples through my body.

  Very nice.

Author Danita Cahill

What do you think? Do all dogs go to heaven?