All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation Read online

  ALL ACTS OF PLEASURE

  A ROWAN GANT INVESTIGATION

  BOOK TWO OF THE MIRANDA TRILOGY

  A Novel of Suspense and Magick

  By

  M. R. Sellars

  E.M.A. Mysteries

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental, except as noted.

  The names Velvet Rieth and Jacquelyn Hunt, are used with permission, and are loosely based on actual persons. While some characteristics of the individuals’ personas are accurate, the characters portrayed herein do not necessarily reflect the actual personalities or lifestyles of the aforementioned.

  ALL ACTS OF PLEASURE: A Rowan Gant Investigation

  A WillowTree Press Book

  E.M.A. Mysteries is an imprint of WillowTree Press

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2006 by M. R. Sellars

  Cover Design Copyright © 2006 Johnathan Minton

  Cover Photo Copyright © 2006 On The Edge Photography

  Cover Model: Ms. Gwendolin “Wendi” O’Brien

  This e-book edition is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book edition may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission.

  For information contact: WillowTree Press on the World Wide Web http://www.willowtreepress.com

  Smashwords Edition – 2010

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Once again I find myself with the monumental task of thanking those who made this installment—and in some cases even the entire RGI series—possible. As I have said before, with each book I write, the list of people I feel compelled to thank grows, and eventually, this roll call will take up an entire volume in itself. Still, my good and true friends are very important to me, so this “thank you” list has become like a moral imperative for me. That said, if I happen to miss someone, I hope you understand that it was unintentional, so please accept my apologies in advance. I’m getting old and my brain doesn’t always work the way it is supposed to.

  Finally, while I may simply run down this list like an Oscar winner getting the “wind it up” signal, please know that you all made this possible through your love and support (and in more than one instance, your complete insanity…)—

  In all seriousness, however, it is of utmost importance with regard to this particular book that I present a big thank you to eDNA/Genetic Technologies, Incorporated and Genelex Corporation for the background info on DNA and genetic identification. And, in that vein, especially EXTRA HUGE props go out to the entire team at Genetree—not only did the folks at Genetree give me info, they actually went out of their way to help me make sure my plotting and methodology were sound, and for that I owe them big. Thanks y’all…

  Now, on to the usual list of suspects, all of whom are very dear to me…

  Dorothy Morrison—all hail the mighty “Box of Joe”

  Sergeant Scott Ruddle, SLPD—don’t you just hate that?

  Roy Osbourn—don’t worry, it’ll keep ya’ regular.

  Trish Telesco, Ann Moura, A.J Drew, Aimee, and Aubrey; Mystic Moon Coven, Dragon Clan Circle and The Grove of the Old Ways; Duane, Amy, Angel & Randal, Chell, Scott & Andrea…All of my good friends from the various acronyms: F.O.C.A.S.M.I., H.S.A., M.E.C., S.I.P.A, I.M.P., etc. (And even the acronyms that have since disappeared)…Patrick & Tish, Lori, Beth, Jim, Dave, Rachel, Doug, Duncan, Kitti, Tracy, Edain, Boom-Boom, Kevin, David, Bella, Annmarie, Marie, Kathy, Shannon, Denessa, Annette, Boudica, Imajicka, Owl, Breanna, Anne, Maggie, Gail, Phyllis, Zita, Heather, Lorna, Linn, Jerry, Mark, Christine, Kristin, Velvet, Rollie, Gil, Hardee, Z, Charlie, Cindy, The Chunkmeister, Johnathan, and probably twenty or thirty more…

  My parents—you know…I wish you were here.

  My daughter—there’s never a dull moment where you’re concerned…

  My wife Kat—all that mushy stuff times three…

  Gwendolin, EK, and The Evil One—love you all…

  Firestorm Publicity Services for keeping the blaze going…

  The gang at CAO for the MX2 and entire Brazilia line of cigars…

  The Drover in Omaha, Nebraska for the killer steaks!

  Paper plates, sporks, wet naps, big paper clips, corkboard, fishnet stockings, hot sauce, butterscotch pudding, applewood smoked bacon, scotch, gin, vodka, green olives, and bologna (the deli kind, not that pre-packaged stuff)…

  And, as always, everyone who takes the time to pick up one of my novels, read it, and then recommends it to a friend.

  For

  Ken Vanlieu

  I’m pointing, looking confused

  and giving you the “Columbo salute”…

  See you on the other side, my friend.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  Dear Reader,

  If you have been following the Rowan Gant Investigations, you already know that this book, All Acts of Pleasure, is for all intents and purposes part two of a much larger three-part story. It all began in the sixth book in the RGI series, Love is the Bond. That installment more or less took on a life of its own and very quickly grew beyond the confines of the covers betwixt which the words were sandwiched. Of course, most of you are already aware, that particular part of the story ended in a gut-wrenching cliffhanger. I have the angry emails and letters to prove it. However, you also know that said cliffhanger set the stage from which All Acts of Pleasure could springboard, just as it, in and of itself, will propel you into The End of Desire, the eighth book in the RGI series and third book in what is now being referred to as The Miranda Trilogy.

  However, because of the fact that this is an ongoing series, you will find that this novel will cover some familiar ground in order to refresh your memories. This minor rehash of events is also intended to set the stage for those who may not have read Love is the Bond. Why? Because someone out there will pick up this novel and read it out of sequence. Guaranteed. It happens every time a new RGI novel hits the bookstores, and there is nothing I can do except say, “Hey, you! Yes, you! Start at the beginning of the series! Or, at the very least read Love is the Bond before you read All Acts of Pleasure!”

  There. I said it. Unfortunately, I know someone out there is going to ignore me, but at least I gave it a try. Therefore, I am now blameless. (In my mind, at least.)

  Another important note—you will find that All Acts of Pleasure is somewhat different. Not radically, but a little. While all of the books in the series are truly about the characters and their relationships with one another, this installment is even more so. In it, you will explore not only the selfless depth of a couple’s love for one another, but also crisis in a close friendship, and desperate issues with family as well.

  Fear not, the fabric of the Rowan Gant saga remains intact—I simply splashed some different colors upon it this go around. I had no choice as this story arc within a story arc is taking us across three separate novels, and that simply requires a change of palette to keep things vibrant and alive.

  Also, of note—just because, The End of Desire, the novel that is to follow this one, will wrap up the Miranda Trilogy, it does not herald the end of The Rowan Gant Investigations as a series. The RGI stories will continue for some time to come. It is just a basic fact that sometimes a particular character gets a little big for his or her britch
es (or skirt) and demands some extra verbiage upon the pages. We all saw this happen with Eldon Porter in Never Burn a Witch and The Law of Three. It seems that Miranda just happens to be one of those characters with a life, mind, and major attitude of her own. She’s demanding, to say the least, and try as I might, she isn’t letting me ignore her need to complete this arc before allowing me to move on. In a sense, you could say I am at her mercy just like her victims in the story.

  At any rate, I hope that you find All Acts of Pleasure, as well as the entire trilogy, enjoyable, and that they give you a little more of a peek into the lives of these characters, most especially Felicity and Miranda. I know that writing them has opened my eyes a bit wider, and I’m the one who created the characters to begin with. In fact, I sometimes wonder if I am actually writing these novels, or merely taking dictation.

  One final thing: As promised, questions will be answered. But, remember, I never swore an oath that I wouldn’t raise a few more.

  Brightest Blessings!

  M. R. Sellars

  THE USUAL DISCLAIMER:

  While the city of St. Louis and its various notable landmarks are certainly real, many names have been changed and liberties taken with some of the details in this book. They are fabrications. They are pieces of fiction within fiction to create an illusion of reality to be experienced and enjoyed.

  In short, I made them up because it helped me make the story more entertaining, or in some cases, just because I wanted to.

  Note also that this book is a first-person narrative. You are seeing this story through the eyes of Rowan Gant. The words you are reading are his thoughts. In first person writing, the narrative should match the dialogue of the character telling the story. Since Rowan, (and anyone else that I know of for that matter,) does not speak in perfect, unblemished English throughout his dialogue, he will not do so throughout his narrative. Therefore, you will notice that some grammatical anomalies have been retained (under protest from editors) in order to support this illusion of reality.

  Let me repeat something—I DID IT ON PURPOSE. Do NOT send me an email complaining about my grammar. It is a rude thing to do, and it does nothing more than waste your valuable time. If you find a typo, that is a different story. Even editors miss a few now and then.

  Finally, this book is not intended as a primer for WitchCraft, Wicca, or any Pagan path. However, please note that the rituals, spells, and explanations of these religious/magickal practices are accurate. Some of my explanations may not fit your particular tradition, but you should remember that your explanations might not fit mine either.

  And, yes, some of the magick is “over the top.” But, like I said in the first paragraph, this is fiction…

  Let Her worship be within the heart that rejoiceth;

  for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are Her rituals.

  Paraphrased from

  The Charge of the Goddess

  As attributed to Doreen Valiente

  Thursday, December 1

  2:47 P.M.

  New Orleans Public Library, Main Branch

  Louisiana Division, Archives

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  PROLOGUE:

  Steady rain was falling, relentlessly spattering the windows that looked out onto a small third floor courtyard.

  Rain was probably the last thing this city needed at the moment. Especially when one considered that the floodwaters, which had invaded the streets and neighborhoods in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, had only recently been pumped back to from whence they came.

  Of course, Mother Nature was on a roll, and she had every intention of hurling more water down upon the dampened city, whether it needed it or not. Fortunately, however, she also had a soft spot for this magickal place, so this go around the precipitation was merely a steady soaking instead of a violent downpour.

  Inside the library the unmistakable funk of mildewed carpet, coupled with countless strains of mold, filled the air. The stagnant aroma relentlessly intermingled with the rich, “academic” smells of paper and ink, both old and new, decaying and preserved. Not one inch of the building was immune as the ventilation system pumped the malodorous air throughout.

  Even upstairs where the archives resided on the third floor of the building, well above the highest point the floodwaters had managed to reach, the smell was still only of slightly lessened intensity. This fact was most likely due to its competition for dominance over the tang of oxidizing microfilm rolls and sporadic wafts of warm ozone.

  The telltale whine of a laser printer whirred upward, increasing in pitch until barely audible, revealing the source of the second of the sharp olfactory notes that stood out against the pervasive, flat mustiness. With a series of clicks and a plastic rattle, it spit out a piece of paper then hummed back into idleness.

  The piece of computer equipment occupied a low table next to a copier, located directly across from the main desk, all of which was just a short walk from the elevator. A few feet beyond the office equipment was the far corner of the information counter. There, the room made a sharp turn, wrapping around the rear of the empty courtyard.

  Perpendicular to the wall opposite the windows, shelves stacked with genealogical records and census data stood at attention, lined outward in perfect formation. At the far end of that dogleg, which terminated the L-shaped room, a man was hunched over, barely visible behind the back-to-back rows of chest-high metal cabinets.

  He straightened upward and gently placed a hand-sized, square box atop the cabinets then peered back downward over the rim of his eyeglasses. After a moment he began moving slowly to his right, fixed gaze scanning intently. A few seconds later he came to a halt and tugged at the front of the sheet metal cube before him.

  A drawer rolled out on full suspension slides, the decrepit ball bearings rattling complaints into the relative quiet of the room. Stepping backward, he extended it fully and then began carefully running his index finger across the contents. It took only a few seconds before he selected yet another of the cardboard boxes and extracted it from the shallow bin. Then, elbowing the drawer shut once again, he gathered the first container along with a tattered steno pad and headed back toward the center of the dogleg where the microfilm readers were set up in short rows.

  Activity had been minimal in the archives earlier in the day. Other than himself, there had only been what appeared to be a few students researching projects and an elderly couple who were obviously on a quest for a lost ancestor. What that had meant was that there were plenty of readers to go around.

  But, that was earlier, and unfortunately, things had changed. The number of warm bodies occupying the third floor had increased dramatically over the past hour or so, and it was now becoming commonplace to need to wait your turn.

  The man peered up and down the stubby ranks, checking the backside of the furthest stand of machines and found none free. With a tired sigh, he trudged over to a table and started to pull out a chair. The wait could be short, or it could be long. One could never tell.

  “Excuse me…Sir?” A feminine voice came into his ears just as he’d edged the seat from beneath the table.

  He turned to find a very blonde and very young-looking woman motioning to him with one hand as she spun a crank with the other in order to rewind the film she had been viewing.

  “Yeah?” he grunted.

  “I’m done here, if you need the machine,” she replied.

  He took notice of the fact that her voice held none of the affectations of the area he’d grown accustomed to hearing since he’d arrived. In that sense, she seemed almost as out of place as he felt. Still, she was young, clad in blue jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, with a nylon backpack sitting on the floor next to her chair. His sluggish brain added up the evidence at hand and came to the conclusion that she was probably a college student from out-of-state.

  “Yeah, thanks,” he replied with a shallow nod. His voice was a tired drone, which all but broadcast the fact that he was surviving on
nothing more than coffee and very little sleep.

  He nudged the chair back beneath the table then walked over to the side of the reader and waited patiently. The young woman removed the spool and stuffed it back into a box then gathered her notebook. Hefting her book bag from the floor, she slipped it onto one shoulder then stepped to the side and gave him a quick smile.

  “You kind of have to coax it a bit sometimes,” she offered. “It sticks every now and then.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I had to use this one a little earlier. Thanks.”

  “Soooo…Genealogy?” she asked.

  He grunted, “Huh?”

  He had already dropped a spool of aging film from the box into his hand and was pushing it onto the feed spindle when she asked the question, so he wasn’t really paying attention. In actuality, he was thinking about the fact that, until today, he hadn’t done research via microfilm since he was in college, and that had been longer ago than he cared to remember. He mentally “hmmphed” as the memory passed and mutely attributed the interaction with the young student as triggering it.