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Introducing Sarah Greene, the star of a new paranormal mystery series from Steven Ramirez called Sarah Greene Mysteries.
Born Sarah Cruz, she is thirty-three and a graduate of UC Santa Barbara. She sells real estate and flips houses with her business partner and ex-husband Joe Greene in Dos Santos, California. She has her dad, a sister, Rachel, and a niece, Katy. She also has a cat named Gary, and she drives a fully restored 1963 Ford Galaxie 500 XL.
The Girl in the Mirror (Coming Summer 2019)
When you look in the mirror and see a different reflection, that’s a bad day.
While renovating an old house with her ex-husband, Sarah Greene discovers a mirror that holds the spirit of a mysterious dead girl. As she learns more about the people who built Casa Abrigo—and about their strange son, Peter—Sarah comes to believe the girl did not die a natural death and sets out to discover the truth. But prying into someone’s dark past is risky, and Sarah will soon find herself in horrible danger.
Sarah Greene has been communicating with ghosts since her best friend died when they were both fifteen. At thirty-three, she still doesn’t know why God gave her this “gift,” but with each new paranormal event, she feels she has no choice but to investigate, even when supernatural forces threaten to harm her. The Girl in the Mirror is the first novel in the Sarah Greene Mystery series.
For fans of Kim Harrison, Darcy Coates, and Stephen King.
Chapter One Teaser
It was the screaming that woke Sarah Greene. Her screaming, to be exact. Sitting up, she tried calming her jackhammering heart by using a breathing technique she’d learned from a psychiatrist years ago. A slow, steady breath through the nose… Hold for three seconds… Purse the lips and exhale slowly… Relax. Then, repeat. That always helped, even though she’d felt Dr. Bates had been rather a condescending bitch. There’s no such things as ghosts, she had said through impossibly huge black designer frames and thin, pale lips that reminded Sarah of a Muppet. Did Muppets even have lips?
Her bedroom was dark except for the glow from the colorful guardian angel night light she’d had since she was a kid. The only reason she still used it was in case she had to get up in the middle of the night to pee. Or that’s what she told herself. Maybe the real reason was that her mother had bought it for her when Sarah was suffering from night terrors. What time was it? She switched on a light and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Just after midnight. She’d only been asleep, what, forty-five minutes?
“Gary?” she said.
She heard a thump from somewhere far off. Then, the familiar rapid padding noise as her sleek, gray tabby with the broken black stripes and cool green eyes bounded into the room, leaped onto the antique iron double bed, and maowed. She brought him close, which always made his eyes squishy while magically pull-starting the purr machine.
“That was a bad one, Gary.”
Realizing it would be hours before she could get to sleep again, she set the cat aside and threw back the sheet and duvet. Then, she just sat there, observing the goosebumps on the tan, muscular legs she’d developed running five miles a day. She didn’t recall why but she’d decided to sleep in panties and the oversize Knicks jersey Joe had given her when they were first married. The man was still a New Yorker through and through. Had she been thinking about her ex-husband again?
“Goosebumps aren’t sexy,” she said, lifting a bare leg and modeling it for the indifferent feline.
She talked to Gary a lot, she noticed. Pathetic when you stopped to think about it. But he did seem to listen. Sometimes. Eventually, though, he got bored and hopped off the bed, looking for something better—like a game of Duck Duck Goose.
Sarah remained on the bed, waiting for the inevitable after-images she knew would follow. That’s the thing about nightmares. They’re really never over until the sun comes up. Soon, she felt the familiar tingling dread—a cloud-like gloom gathering behind her eyes. Then, a parade of stilted pictures appearing like something out of a demented slide show organized by evil clowns with French accents who liked smoking expensive cigarettes. Now, a flash grenade of white-hot light.
The flickering of a neon sign…
A man with no face perched on a bed, rocking and praying…
Urgent hands reaching out…
A face looking down at her, the eyes black, bloody holes…
A hand covering Sarah’s mouth…
And finally, a girl in a filmy, white nightgown, falling wordlessly into a black void, her arms outstretched.
Coming out of it, Sarah could feel herself getting anxious again and decided to take another calming breath. Eventually, she pulled on a pair of jeans and made her way to the kitchen where she found the cat playing with a plastic bottle cap that had somehow missed the trash.
So, what now? Coffee? No, she’d never get back to sleep. A drink? Hmm. She still had that bottle of Talisker 25 Year Scotch Joe had given her on her thirtieth birthday. Pretty pricey for a guy who was known to replenish his underwear drawer once a decade, and only if Penneys was having a sale. Okay, maybe just a quick one. That stuff needed to last till she turned forty, which was seven years away. Shit, forty…