I have visited New Orleans with a friend. We stayed in an old brick hotel on Decatur Street in the French Quarter. The room we stayed in had a ghost which we both heard and saw signs. The ghost was friendly and didn’t try to hurt us. The ghost tried to steal my praline cookie in an envelope on my bedside table. The ghost also picked the cement between the bricks and threw it on my friends’ bed. Do I believe in ghosts? Oh yeah!
I’ve also researched the French Quarter, including voodoo and the voodoo temple on which I visited. And I did ghost tour. I’ve also researched the history of New Orleans and some of the parts of the culture like their music, jazz, their funerals and the history of corrupt policing. The research was fun to do. And the story was fun to write.
Probably incorporating some of the paranormal elements.
Is the book dedicated to anyone?
This book is dedicated to my friends who helped with the editing, Joyce and Stephanie.
When Perrine Dupré dies under suspicious circumstances her daughter, Julie Ann Dupré, returns to New Orleans to find the truth about her mother’s death. She uncovers a family secret, hidden for years. Now someone is trying to kill her. Will the little dog who appears after her mother’s death help her? Is the sexy detective out to help her, or is he part of police corruption?
Detective Connor O’Reilly, a native of New Orleans, comes from a family of police. He’s an honest cop but realizes there is corruption in the division. His father may have died as part of that corruption. He meets Julie Ann, checks out her mother’s death and finds it was badly handled. Julie Ann deserves the truth and he wants to find it for her.
Julie Ann and Connor work together to unravel the real reason behind Perrine Dupré’s murder, Julie Ann’s mysterious past, and why people want her dead, while developing their challenging relationship. Can they both survive? And can their relationship survive?
Excerpt: Death Southern Style
Perrine Dupré hurried down the street. She needed to get home. Dark New Orleans clouds hovered overhead. Thunder rolled. Large drops of late May rain pelted the streets of the French Quarter. It sounded like hail as the fat globs bounced off the pavement behind Perrine. The ozone mixed with the scent of magnolia and the smell of shrimp and fish cooking in the area.
The older African American woman struggled against the wind. It whipped her umbrella inside out. She clutched it tightly so not to lose it. Rain blurred her vision. Thunder crashes caused her to jump. She stumbled up the three steps to her front door. Her daughter was coming home for a visit. Perrine’s pulse increased and a smile sneaked out. Tomorrow Julie Ann would be home in New Orleans and Perrine could give her a big hug.
Juggling her parcels, umbrella and the key Perrine jabbed it in the direction of the lock. Finally, the key found the opening and turned.
Thunder rumbled a little louder, sounding like pins crashing in a bowling alley.
Perrine turned the doorknob and froze.
One of her psychic visions flashed in front of her. Her shoulders sagged. A man stood inside. Her visons didn’t lie. She wasn’t going to see Julie Ann after all. And she'd miss their regular telephone call tonight, too.
Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed again.
He waited for her to come inside.
The vision showed her crumpled on the ground in front of the house. She’d run, but obviously she wasn’t going to get far. Even if she managed to escape, they would kill her eventually. And after tonight Julie Ann would be home. She would also be in danger.
In her mind, Perrine stared into the depths of the house, hands trembled, freezing cold filled her chest. She had to make a decision. He was getting ready to make a move. Perrine dropped her parcels, turned and raced down the steps.
The skies opened wide and lightning flashed across the sky, turning it an electric white. Perrine crumpled to the street. No one heard the shot. An icy shroud of death enveloped over her.
The front door closed. The lock clicked.
She felt no pain, not even when a boot kicked her sharply in the ribs - twice.
The feet moved away.
A gate squeaked.
A car engine roared to life.
The phone rang. No one answered it tonight.
Her spirit gradually left her body and floated away. Using her fading power, Perrine pulled on the power of the Priestess to allow her to remain on earth, in any form.
Buy: Death Southern Style
Beverley Bateman now lives in Medicine Hat, Alberta. She recently moved from the Okanagan Valley in BC, Canada. Instead of vineyards, orchards, lakes, and mountains she has ranches, farmers and a close community. She lives there with her husband and her Bichon-poodle rescue dog. During the cold Alberta winters, she snowbirds to Arizona and does glass fusion, watercolor painting and plays the ukulele besides working on her latest romantic suspense. Hunted, Missing and Targeted are part of her Montana series. She also has her Holly Devine series; A Cruise to Remember, and a Murder to Forget. Don’t Go is her darker romantic suspense.
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