During the 1940's the women attending Rosary College insisted a beautiful young woman wearing a 'fancy dress' haunted the halls near the chapel. Many claimed to see the apparition often entering, sitting, and softly crooning a mournful melody. Stories of the 'Rosary Bride' continue from generation to generation. Fifty years later, during the renovation of the college library, workers expose a skeleton.
Grace Marsden, present at the discovery is drawn into the search for the victim's identity, fearing the remains will lead to skeletons in her own family closet. Against her husband, her best friend, and her own common sense Grace determines to find the truth. Her involvement grows beyond her control when the dead woman reaches out to her. Can Grace name the 'Rosary Bride' before her killer strikes again?
Read an Excerpt:
Barely muted by the crash of shattered stone on wood flooring, a shouted expletive reverberated off the high ceiling of Regina College's stately library. Sudden silence gripped the room as a dozen heads swung simultaneously to stare wide-eyed at the two red-faced tradesmen planted toe-to-toe in front of the massive stone fireplace. The taller of the pair, a beefy fellow with hard eyes and a stubborn chin, stood bunched in a boxer's stance, his right arm cocked, his hand balled into a fist. The shorter man held his ground, but he seemed more shell-shocked than ready to fight. Shoulders drooping, he cradled a heavy hammer to his chest as he gazed slack-jawed at the rubble littering the floor around his boots. Unnoticed by either man, a fine film of masonry dust hung in the air between them and encircled their heads like misty halos, the final product of a now gaping wound in the back wall of the fireplace.
In that frozen moment in time, I heard a slight rustling sound followed by a click, click, click. As if on cue a small glass bead rolled out of the jagged hole and tumbled to the floor.
The spell was broken as quickly as it had been cast. Hurrying forward, I dimly heard the questioning voices of my friends as I pushed between the two men and bent to retrieve the tiny bead. Another bead trickled from the wounded masonry and joined its predecessor on the floor. One more hung on the edge of a gray shard like a tear poised to drop. I knelt down to pluck it from the rubble.
The assault on my senses began immediately. A puff of cold, dank air long imprisoned in the wall pushed against my face in search of freedom. My stomach tightened and the hair on the back of my neck scraped against my collar. I wanted to turn away; I was drawn closer. My jaw tightened and bits of my breakfast rocketed to my throat and stopped just short of gagging me. Head pounding, filled with noise and motion, I saw what they couldn't see; what I'd never forget. Suspended in the dark hole, as if in a desperate stretch to the light and perhaps the touch of another, dangled a bony hand.
I screamed and pulled back. The room seemed to tilt and shift my focus from the gaping hole up to the chandelier twenty feet above me and back again.