Do werewolves exist? That’s the question skeptical cryptozoologist Morgan Carter has to answer in the latest entry in this The discovery of a dead body along Bray Road in Wisconsin sparks rumors of The Beast of Bray Road, a werewolf-like creature that is said to inhabit the area. The dead woman has been mutilated by some kind of large animal. The community is convinced that the legendary beast is not only real but responsible for this brutal killing. In an effort to prove them wrong, the police bring in cryptozoologist Morgan Carter, who soon finds that the mystery runs considerably deeper than whether or not one mythical predator is on the prowl.

Autorentext
Annelise Ryan is the USA Today bestselling author of multiple mystery series, including the Mattie Winston Mysteries. A retired ER nurse, she now writes full-time from her Wisconsin home.

Klappentext

Under the light of the full moon, a quiet rural lane becomes the scene of a shocking crime that may be the work of a mythical monster in the latest entry of this USA Today bestselling mystery series.

When a dead body turns up along a lonely country byway in rural Wisconsin, rumors of The Beast of Bray Road, a werewolf-like creature that is said to inhabit the area are reinvigorated. For years locals have reported sightings of the terrifying creature, but this would be its first verified attack.

Marks on the dead woman’s body indicate a mauling by some kind of large animal. The wounds plus deep scratches on the victim’s car convince the community that the legendary beast is not only real but responsible for this brutal killing.

If the police have any hope of solving this crime, they’re going to need an expert—enter cryptozoologist Morgan Carter. She’s investigated sightings of eerie creatures throughout the upper Midwest. If anyone is going to track down the killer, it’s Morgan, but she may find that the Beast is not the worst thing lurking on Bray Road.

Leseprobe
I was showing a customer a necklace with two opposing silver dragon heads that came together in a heart shape over a red amethyst teardrop when the cops arrived. My dog, Newt, sat beside me and got my attention by whining and wagging his tail, creating miniature fur balls that rolled across the floor like tiny tumbleweeds. He raised his nose and started sniffing madly, compensating for his near blindness. I turned to see why he was so excited, at first noticing only dust motes dancing in the beams of late-afternoon sunshine streaming through my front windows. I made a mental note to have Rita and Devon do some serious spring cleaning.

Then I saw the two people who had arrived and understood Newt's excitement. My reaction was equally enthusiastic, and if I'd had a tail, I probably would have been wagging it, too.

He's here.

I glanced over at the checkout counter, where Rita had just finished processing a payment for someone, and saw her arch her eyebrows with interest. I gave her a look to summon her over and she nodded, the loose, wispy white hairs in her ever-present sloppy bun creating an undulating halo around her head.

Jon Flanders, or Flatfoot Flanders as Rita had taken to calling him, stopped a few feet away and gave me a tentative smile. He looked good, his blond hair cut short on the sides, but a longer lock in front hung boyishly over his forehead. His blue eyes twinkled, making me think he was happy to see me. Or was that simply wishful thinking on my part?

Jon was here! My heart felt like it might burst, and the reaction surprised me a little. I knew I'd missed him of late but perhaps I hadn't realized how much.

The man with Jon, who I guessed was also a cop based on his military haircut and ramrod posture, was dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and a suit jacket. My excitement at seeing Jon was somewhat tempered by this second man's presence because this wasn't at all how I'd imagined our eventual reunion in the gazillion scenarios I'd run through my mind over the past few months. It was supposed to be a private, romantic setting, an opening-or rather a reopening-of the lines of communication between our minds and our hearts, not a ménage à trois.

"Oh, my niece just loves that necklace!" Rita cooed, moving in and smoothly taking over with the customer. The rhinestones on the lanyard attached to her eyeglasses caught some of the sunbeams and reflected little dots of light around the room like a disco ball. Her enthusiasm was all for show. Rita didn't have a niece. I excused myself and walked over to the newly arrived duo.

"It's good to see you," I said to Jon, mildly irritated by the tentativeness I heard in my voice. Newt had no such reservations. He was all over Jon, wagging his tail furiously, nosing one of Jon's hands, and whining with excitement.

Jon returned my greeting with a brief nod and then did the introductions. "Wyatt Moorhead, this is Morgan Carter. Morgan, this is Wyatt Moorhead. He's a detective down in Elkhorn."

"Nice to meet you, Detective Moorhead."

"Please, call me Wyatt."

Jon said, "Can we go upstairs and talk?"

Okay, apparently this visit was all business. And when Jon mentioned where Wyatt was from, it gave me an inkling of what the business might be about.

"Sure," I said.

I stepped past the two men and led them up the stairs to my apartment on the second floor, with Newt following. The late-afternoon sun was putting on a stunning display here as well, thanks to a wall of westward-facing glass. Unfortunately, it also highlighted all the dog hair and dust that had settled on my glass-topped coffee table, granite countertops, and wood floors. And then there were the dried drool spots courtesy of Newt. I had dusted, vacuumed, and mopped it all just yesterday morning but it was a never-ending battle. I loved my dog, but he was kind of a slob.

I directed the men to the living portion of the open-concept space and headed for the kitchen.

"I could use a coffee," I said over my shoulder. "Can I get you guys something? I have water, coffee, tea, some pink lemonade, and if you're so inclined, some nice IPAs."

"I wouldn't mind some water," Wyatt said.

I glanced over at Jon expectantly. "Same," he said without looking at me.

"Jon tells me the mummified body seated by your front door is real," Wyatt said as I started a single cup of coffee in my Keurig machine.

"Yep, that's Henry," I explained. I got each of the men a bottle of water from the fridge and carried them into the living room. "Henry was part of the Alaskan gold rush, but he fell into an ice crevasse and was frozen for many years. Some Inuit found him. Then Native Americans had him, and eventually my father bought him. The ice started the mummification process and I'm not sure if something or someone else finished it. All I know is, he's been a mascot here at Odds and Ends practically since the store opened. And he saved my life once."

Wyatt's eyebrows shot up, but I chose not to clarify further. My mind was too busy thinking about other things.

My coffee was ready, and I grabbed it and settled into a chair across from the men, somewhat amused they had chosen to sit side by side on the couch. Newt flopped down on the floor at my feet, ready for one of his many daily naps. I took a sip of my coffee, using the activity to study Wyatt over the top of my mug. He was an attractive man, tall and well-built with broad shoulders. His eyes were a brown so dark, they looked black, and he had a hair color to match. A hint of a five-o'clock shadow graced his cheeks. I pegged his age as somewhere in his early forties.

"So, what's up?" I was trying to sound casual even though my heart was pounding so hard, I could see a small pulsating light in one corner of my vision. Before anyone could answer, I quickly added, "Wait. Let me gu…