made coffee, brought out the breakfast trays, and sat staring into my mug, waiting for the caffeine buzz to hit. Quinn would arrive a few minutes later, throw the paper on his table, pour a cup of coffee, and sit for an uninterrupted hour of reading, sipping, and eating.
This morning there was an edge to Quinn.
“Miss Carmichael,” he said on his way to the coffee.
“Sheriff,” I replied. We’d never given up our formal titles for each other. I think we both thought the distance was as comfortable as we would ever be with each other. Gabrielle said it was sexy as hell. Whatever.
I was just contemplating sneaking off for another hour of sleep when the front section of the Sunday paper landed unceremoniously on my table. I jumped and my coffee sloshed, splashing the front page.
“What the hell? Watch what you’re doing,” I practically snarled. Mornings were not my best time to be social.
“Read it,” he said.
I opened my mouth to protest, took one look at Quinn’s unyielding face, and knew he wouldn’t relent until I looked at whatever it was he wanted me to see.
It was Jason’s article. Wow! He’d made the front page, above the fold, and had a byline. Good for him . Even if it was a slow news day, this was a big break. Then the headline penetrated my morning brain. HAVEN for HOAXES—
I flipped the paper and saw a small photograph of the Welcome to Juniper Springs sign and a picture of the sweat lodge. Showcasing the two images together seemed a bit harsh.
I started reading, expecting the article to be a rehash of the Ted Sparks scandal, and in some ways, it was. Jason began with a brief history of Ted and his Mecca for the Chosen Ones retreat.
The article explained that Native Americans had used sweat lodges in ancient and sacred rituals meant only for them. Sparks had bastardized the process by building his own version of a sweat lodge, using concrete blocks and heavy canvass. He charged his followers between five and ten thousand dollars a person to crowd into the 400-square foot structure, where his flunkies would stoke the fire while Ted chanted self-actualization nonsense. Two hours later the faithful would emerge, spiritually and financially cleansed. Last summer, four people died and twenty more were hospitalized from severe heat stroke. Sparks was in prison awaiting trial.
The article was well written, infusing the right amount of facts and personal accounts by the victims to draw the reader in. I thought Jason had done a bang up job, until I got to the conclusion:
Ted Sparks was not the only business in town to profit from the exploitation of others. A recent spate of reported paranormal activity has brought throngs of tourists to the small community of Juniper Springs. Business is thriving for those operating ghost sighting tours of cemeteries and burial grounds. People wait weeks and pay thousands of dollars for a “Vortex infusion,” a type of blood exchange with an allegedly supernatural being.
Even the local bed and breakfast seems to be in on the act. The prognosticating proprietor is an ex-convict and a member of a family long associated with perpetrating fraud on unsuspecting victims for profit. Her close ties to the local sheriff may prevent anyone from examining her activities too closely, but there is speculation she will soon be operating a fortune-telling scheme from her hostelry.
Over the next six weeks I will bring you stories of some of these businesses and expose how the operators use the increasing interest in paranormal activities to trick otherwise sensible people into parting with their hard earned cash.
Next week: A look at “The Way They Were,” a hunting lodge that purports to take guests on a photo safari of actual werewolves.
Slumping against the back of the chair, I stared numbly at the paper for a long time after I finished reading. I don’t know how Jason had found out about my juvenile record, but to call me an ex-con in the press was
This morning there was an edge to Quinn.
“Miss Carmichael,” he said on his way to the coffee.
“Sheriff,” I replied. We’d never given up our formal titles for each other. I think we both thought the distance was as comfortable as we would ever be with each other. Gabrielle said it was sexy as hell. Whatever.
I was just contemplating sneaking off for another hour of sleep when the front section of the Sunday paper landed unceremoniously on my table. I jumped and my coffee sloshed, splashing the front page.
“What the hell? Watch what you’re doing,” I practically snarled. Mornings were not my best time to be social.
“Read it,” he said.
I opened my mouth to protest, took one look at Quinn’s unyielding face, and knew he wouldn’t relent until I looked at whatever it was he wanted me to see.
It was Jason’s article. Wow! He’d made the front page, above the fold, and had a byline. Good for him . Even if it was a slow news day, this was a big break. Then the headline penetrated my morning brain. HAVEN for HOAXES—
I flipped the paper and saw a small photograph of the Welcome to Juniper Springs sign and a picture of the sweat lodge. Showcasing the two images together seemed a bit harsh.
I started reading, expecting the article to be a rehash of the Ted Sparks scandal, and in some ways, it was. Jason began with a brief history of Ted and his Mecca for the Chosen Ones retreat.
The article explained that Native Americans had used sweat lodges in ancient and sacred rituals meant only for them. Sparks had bastardized the process by building his own version of a sweat lodge, using concrete blocks and heavy canvass. He charged his followers between five and ten thousand dollars a person to crowd into the 400-square foot structure, where his flunkies would stoke the fire while Ted chanted self-actualization nonsense. Two hours later the faithful would emerge, spiritually and financially cleansed. Last summer, four people died and twenty more were hospitalized from severe heat stroke. Sparks was in prison awaiting trial.
The article was well written, infusing the right amount of facts and personal accounts by the victims to draw the reader in. I thought Jason had done a bang up job, until I got to the conclusion:
Ted Sparks was not the only business in town to profit from the exploitation of others. A recent spate of reported paranormal activity has brought throngs of tourists to the small community of Juniper Springs. Business is thriving for those operating ghost sighting tours of cemeteries and burial grounds. People wait weeks and pay thousands of dollars for a “Vortex infusion,” a type of blood exchange with an allegedly supernatural being.
Even the local bed and breakfast seems to be in on the act. The prognosticating proprietor is an ex-convict and a member of a family long associated with perpetrating fraud on unsuspecting victims for profit. Her close ties to the local sheriff may prevent anyone from examining her activities too closely, but there is speculation she will soon be operating a fortune-telling scheme from her hostelry.
Over the next six weeks I will bring you stories of some of these businesses and expose how the operators use the increasing interest in paranormal activities to trick otherwise sensible people into parting with their hard earned cash.
Next week: A look at “The Way They Were,” a hunting lodge that purports to take guests on a photo safari of actual werewolves.
Slumping against the back of the chair, I stared numbly at the paper for a long time after I finished reading. I don’t know how Jason had found out about my juvenile record, but to call me an ex-con in the press was
Similar Books
The Color of Ordinary Time
Virginia Voelker
Chasing the Dark
Sam Hepburn
A Step Beyond
Christopher K Anderson
Accidentally in Love
Claudia Dain
Silverhawk
Barbara Bettis
Dear Hank Williams
Kimberly Willis Holt
Duchess of Mine
Red L. Jameson
Too Sinful to Deny
Erica Ridley
Debts
Tammar Stein
The Secret Scripture
Sebastian Barry