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I. M. Foster is the pen name author Inez Foster uses to write her South Shore Mystery series, set on Edwardian Long Island. Inez also writes historical romances under the pseudonym Andrea Matthews, and has so far published two series in that genre: the Thunder on the Moor series, a time-travel romance set on the 16th century Anglo-Scottish Borders, and the Cross of Ciaran series, which follows the adventures of a fifth century Celt who finds himself in love with a twentieth century archaeologist.
Inez is a historian and librarian, who love to read and write and search around for her roots, genealogically speaking. She has a BA in History and an MLS in Library Science and enjoys the research almost as much as she does writing the story. In fact, many of her ideas come to her while doing casual research or digging into her family history. Inez is a member of the Long Island Romance Writers, the Historical Novel Society, and Sisters in Crime.
More Books by
I. M. Foster
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New York, 1904. After two years as a coronerâs physician for the city of New York, Daniel O'Halleran is more frustrated than ever. Whatâs the point when the authorities consistently brush aside his findings for the sake of expediency? So when his fiancĂŠe leaves him standing at the altar on their wedding day, he takes it as a sign that it's time to move on and eagerly accepts an offer to assist the local coroner in the small Long Island village of Patchogue.
Though the coroner advises him life on Long Island is far more subdued than that of the city, Daniel hasnât been there a month when the pretty librarian, Kathleen Brissedon, asks him to look into a two-year-old murder case that took place in the city. Oddly enough, the case sheâs referring to was the first one he ever worked on, and the verdict never sat right with him.
Eager for the chance to investigate it anew, Daniel agrees to look into it in his spare time, but when a fresh murder occurs in his own backyard, he canât shake his gut feeling that the two cases are connected. Can he discover the link before another life is taken, or will murder shake the peaceful South Shore village once again?
Murder on Oak Street
I. M. Foster
Will murder shake the peaceful South Shore village once again?
Book Excerpt or Article
Daniel OâHalleran stared down at the crumpled body, blood spreading out in a deep crimson pool beneath the manâs head. He reached over to close the victimâs turquoise eyes. Something wasnât right here, aside from the fact that a body was lying battered and broken on the rough wooden floor. He couldnât put his finger on it, but then that wasnât his job, now was it?
âWell?â Sergeant Timothy OâHalleran asked, a frown creasing his aging brow. âWhat killed him, then?â
Trying to suppress a smile, Daniel stood up, brushing the dust from his pants. His uncle knew very well what had killed the man, but clearly wanted to make Daniel feel important in his new position as a coronerâs physician for the city of New York. âYouâre well aware what killed him, Uncle Timothy.â
His uncle gave a quick glance around before slapping him on the back of the head. âYeâre a professional now, lad. Act like one, eh? Yer da didnât spend all that money for a medical degree for ye to be acting the fool.â
This time Daniel did laugh, but he removed the smile from his face quickly as his uncleâs frown deepened. He was right. Richard and Sarah Adams had raised him as their own in every respect after his mother had died. For all intents and purposes, they were his parents, even though heâd insisted on retaining his motherâs surname. He did want to make them proud of him.
Wiping a hand across his face to remove any remnant of tomfoolery, as his adoptive mother called it, he took a deep breath. âHeâs cracked his skull and bled out.â Daniel bent down again, sniffing the manâs clothing. âProbably drunk, but I canât be certain.â
âSure, I can smell it from up here,â Timothy said. âWhiskey, Iâd say. Iâm thinking ye need to be getting out a bit more if yeâve any doubt.â
âItâs not what heâs been drinking I question, but the amount that made it into his stomach. Most of the smell is coming from his clothing, not his mouth. What selfrespecting drunk would let that much liquor go to waste?â
Timothy nodded. âYe may be right, me boy. I know the man, and heâs not one to be found tipping more than a glass or two, especially in a place such as this.â
Daniel rubbed a thumb beneath his bottom lip, hesitant to say what was on his mind, but the thought was apt to come out anyway. He nodded up the stairs. âMaybe he was here for other reasons. Iâve no doubt that girl was pregnant. If he wanted her to have it aborted . . .â
This time Timothy shook his head. âIâll not be believing that. More likely he was here to talk her out oâ such a drastic act, and someone caught him at it. The father, perhaps.â He scrubbed the day-old stubble on his chin. âWhat about the wretched sod in the corner room?â
âI suspect that was natural causes, but Iâll be able to tell you moreââ
âI know, when ye get a better look.â His uncle rested a hand on his shoulder. âYeâd best be quick about it, though. The chief will be wanting this one wrapped up before the widow gets any ideas. Sheâs way out on Long Island, so âtis not likely heâll be spending a great deal oâ time or resources on it.â
âBut if the manâs been murdered . . .â Daniel stood, indignant to think the chief might put other considerations before the truth.
Timothy pointed a finger at him. âNow ye listen here, boyo. âTis the way things are. If the widow wants to hire someone to investigate, sheâs free to do so. The cityâs not likely to be spending good money on a drunkard found dead in a tenement, especially with a pregnant lass stabbed to death two floors above. Saints preserve us, lad, the knifeâs lying at his fingertips.â
âThereâs no proof itâs his knife, or that it was even used in her murder. Perhaps I could try and use that new fingerprint system Iâve heard mentioned to see ifââ
âIt doesnât matter,â his uncle said, cutting him off. ââTis lying beside him, and thatâs how the bigwigs will see it, whether ye like it or not.â
âThen why ask me at all?â
âThis is a good job, and ye won it fair and square, but ye can lose it just as easily. Give the boss yer opinion and leave it at that. And for the love oâ God, donât be going making any waves, or ye might find yerself unemployed with a reputation as a troublemaker. Fingerprints, indeed!â
Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping as if a weight had been laid across them. âIt may not matter one way or the other.â
âAnd whyâs that?â Timothy narrowed his eyes. âOut with it.â
âPrudence wants me to resign and go into practice with her father.â He shrugged, trying to shift the heaviness from his shoulders, and rubbed the scar on his forehead. âIt certainly pays more, and sheâs used to the finer things in life. Besides, Iâd actually be helping living people, and if the departmentâs not going to follow up on anything anyway . . .â
âHumph!â His uncle grumbled in Gaelic, words Daniel didnât understand, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. âThatâs all a bunch oâ malarkey, and ye know it. Ever since yeâve been a wee lad yeâve spoken oâ naught but joining the police force. Yer da saw how important that was to ye. Sure, he wanted ye to have a grand education and all, and yet he found a way for ye to have both, didnât he? Now here comes this society lass, asking ye to give it all up. Yer da put yer dreams above his own. He always has. I canât be saying the same for this lass.â
âLetâs not get into that again.â The longer they dwelled on the topic, the more his forehead ached. âYou donât like Pru. I understand that, but she does love me, and I her.
Shouldnât that count for something?â
âThen she should be wanting whatâs best for ye.â
âAnd what about me wanting whatâs best for her? I have to think of her needs as well.â
His uncle gave a half shrug. ââTis why I never wed meself.â
Daniel chuckled, the ache along his scar easing a little. âYou never wed because you eat and drink your job, and you couldnât find a woman who would put up with it . . . or you.â
âTrue enough, though when I see yerself all grown like ye are, I do regret it from time to timeânot having a lad oâ me own.â He sniffed before continuing and gripped Danielâs arm. âThat aside, I just want ye to be happy, lad. Ye know that.â
âI do, Uncle, though if you donât let me get going, Iâll be sacked regardless.â He picked up his medical bag, the one his uncle had spent a fortune on for his graduation. âIâll see you for dinner Wednesday night, seven oâclock sharp. You know how Hattie gets if youâre late.â
âNow thereâs a woman that might have turned me head once upon a time.â
âSheâd have knocked that thick Irish head of yours off its block.â Daniel walked outside with his uncle and looked up at the dilapidated building. âI know Dr. Scholer will do his best, but if we rule it a murder, will the department at least see if any of the other tenants saw anything?â
Timothy scratched the back of his head. âAh, Danny! Iâll do me best, but the truth oâ it is thereâs likely not a soul in there that heard a thing. Aside from the drink, Iâm thinking there might be a good deal oâ opium use going on.â
Daniel nodded. âBut you will try?â
âOâ course I will.â
Daniel squeezed his uncleâs shoulder and headed back toward his buggy, his uncleâs voice calling after him.
âYeâll be letting me know what ye find?â
Daniel waved his hand, a smile crossing his face once more.
More Articles and Excerpts by
I. M. Foster
and other authors
S.P. Somtow | |
Donna Balon | |
Julia Ibbotson | |
ALISON HUNTINGFORD | |
Keira Morgan | |
Linda Bennett Pennell | |
Art Wyckerham | |
Nethaniel Spero | |
Gail Combs Oglesby | |
Vera Bell |