At a young age, Kay Lassiter witnessed her parents’ murder, one made to look like an accident. Kay and her brother survived that accident, but the post traumatic stress robbed her memory and increased her psychic awareness.
Now at twenty-eight, Kay is picking up the pieces of her life after her more recent loss of her boyfriend, victim of a shootout, and starting a stained glass art business in New Jersey. She is visited by Eviance, her childhood guardian angel who knows the identity of her parents’ murderer and tries to warn her that the murderer has returned.
With courage, strength, and the help of her guardian angel, Kay begins to solve the murder mystery. She also begins to heal and trust as she rekindles a romance with Jake O’Malley, a childhood friend. Along the way Kay learns that despite the problems in this world, there are angels among us.
Kay scratched her head a moment in thought. “Model? Yes! The phone call to the modeling agency.” She shrugged. “That wasn’t for another two months, when I start the classes. And I didn’t expect a being of light and—”
“God works in mysterious ways!” He sat atop a wooden stool and posed with his chin tucked on prayer-clasped hands. “Does this fit the look?”
“For Rodin maybe!”
“Wow, Mildred look at the gorgeous young thing!” Aunt Bridie shouted as she entered the room followed by her long-time friend Mildred Perkins. “Now this is what I call art!” Soon several other senior citizens poured into the room and sat at the tables, their attention riveted to the man in their midst who smiled at their observations and comments.
Kay clapped her hands. “Please quiet down, everyone. Since this is our first class, we’ll go over how to hold the pencil and—”
Bridie cut her off. “I’d like to do more than hold the pencil, dearie.”
“Mademoiselle, please leesen to your teacher. She’s hard at de work.”
The French accent amused Kay. She waited a moment, distributed supplies, and lectured for ten minutes on the basics. Kay illustrated how to draw lines, shapes, and contours. Then she observed the students’ attempts. After half an hour, she distributed more paper and suggested they either draw the still life of fruits and flowers or sketch the guest model.
“Would you like an apple?” Aunt Bridie picked one up and held it toward the model who quickly shook his head. “Waste not, want not.” She bit the crisp fruit.
“Good heavens!” Flustered, Kay stood back a moment, clenched and unclenched her sweaty hands and decided to continue minus one apple.
She commented on the individual drawings and looked up to spy her great-aunt, finished with the apple, head toward an orange.
“No, Madame,” the model said, holding out his hand to her. “Please sit here with me.”
Aunt Bridie looked bewildered a moment, then sat in a chair and stared up at the model.
“Two for the price of one,” Mildred quipped. “But when do we sketch the nudes?”
“This is a PG-13 class, Millie,” Kay said. “Maybe later in the year.”
The model relaxed his pose. As did Aunt Bridie, who leaned against her folded arms and fell asleep.
“What is his name?” one of the students asked Kay.
“I don’t recall...”
The model’s eyes narrowed a moment, he gave a low chuckle, and replied, “Ah, Miss Lassiter forgot her long-time friend’s name. Well, it is Eviance!”
A quick glance at the bottled water on her art stand made Kay realize the name’s origin. “Ah, yes, my memory jilted me. Class, meet Mr. Eviance Angelique.”
“He’s a Frenchie!” Millie said. “I dated one during the war.”
Aunt Bridie roused awake, flapped her arms and stared at her. “Which one, Millie? The First or Second World War?”
“Oh, you two gals, stop eet!” Eviance said. “Or I weel have to spank you.” The ladies squealed with delight.
When class ended, Kay put away the supplies.
“I’ll take Bridie home,” Mildred told Kay. “We’ve got a card game tonight.”
“Oh, thank you,” Kay said with relief. She had to clean up the room and visit with several of the exhibitors. Eviance followed her, helped wipe tables and store the supplies she brought. He picked up an X-acto knife by the blade edge.
“Stop!” Kay warned.
She peered in amazement at his unscathed fingertip. “What are you?”
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
“Do you remember the tree house?” he asked. “It stood in your backyard, at the old house before you moved in with your granny.”
“Yeah! A few boys snuck in. I tried to stop them from destroying the tree house my brother and I worked long and hard creating. One pushed me and...”
“And you fell. But something stopped you from getting seriously hurt?”