Here's a short preview of Book #4 in the Nikki Landry Swamp Legend Series, by Rita Monette:
The Mystery on Lost Lagoon
A Nikki Landry Swamp Legend
Brought to you by Mirror World Publishing
(Available November 17, 2017)
Legend has it… if you go onto Lost Lagoon, you never return.
Nikki Landry and her friends are off on a quest to track down a prehistoric-looking bird that’s been flying around a nearby swamp island.
However, their plans get sidetracked when they meet a stranger in their small town who apparently has some secrets to hide.
The sleuthing group soon learns of a legend about a hidden lagoon. Is it all connected? Before they can find out, they are kidnapped by a mysterious scientist who is on a mission of his own.
Is there any truth to the legend that says if you go onto Lost Lagoon, you will never return? Is the eerie whirlpool that sits waiting to suck you in really a wormhole to another world? Who are the Men in Black...and what do they want with Mr. Beekers?
Join Nikki and her friends, and one neurotic parrot, as they discover the truth behind the Mystery on Lost Lagoon.
Want more? Here's an excerpt:
“What can you tell me about this man,” one of the men asked Mr. Lopez, while laying a picture on the counter.
Mr. Lopez picked up the picture and squinted at it. “What do you want him for?”
He wasn’t about to give out any information without knowing what the consequences might be. Folks in a small town might gossip, but they weren’t too trusting of men in black suits and sunglasses asking about their neighbors, even if those neighbors were a bit on the strange side.
“We just have a few questions for him,” one of the men said. “His name is Leroy Baker.”
“Can’t say as I recognize him,” Mr. Lopez answered.
“Well, if you do see him, call us.” The man slid a card toward him.
Mr. Lopez tried to give him the picture back.
“No, you keep that...just in case it jars your memory.” They both walked back out the door. They stood just outside talking and wiping the sweat off their foreheads with white handkerchiefs.
I walked up to the counter and looked at the picture. Mr. Lopez picked it up and threw it in the wastebasket.
“But that looks like Mr. Beekers,” I said. “Except his hair is shorter and combed.”
“Don’t look like him at all.” He turned around and went back to straightening stuff on his shelf.
Spikes and I stood looking out the door at the men walking toward their fancy black car. One of ’em tripped over my bike, which had no doubt slid off the sign. He cursed and kicked it.
“Hey,” I pushed the door open. “That’s my bike.”
It wasn’t the prettiest bike around, especially after me and my friends painted it several different colors trying to cover the rusty parts, but it was mine.
“Well, you shouldn’t leave it laying on the ground,” he growled. “It skinned my shoe.”
I glanced down at his shoes. They were pointy-toed and real shiny, except for the scratch.
“Sorry,” I said. “I had it propped up. It must have fell.”
He made a face, then turned toward his car.
Spikes walked up behind me and whispered, “I wonder who they are.”
“Hey, what do you want with that man?” I asked.
Spikes poked me in the side.
“Why? Do you know him?” one of ’em asked.
“Can’t say as I do or I don’t,” I said. “But in case I do, I’d like to know what you aim to do when you find him.” I took another drink of my Coke.
“Smart little lady, aren’t you?” the one that kicked my bike said.
“I guess I am. You just don’t look like you’re from around these parts, so I figure it must be important for you to come way out here to find him.”
“Well, I’ll tell you this,” the one that was standing by the driver’s side of the car said, “He’s a criminal, and he’s wanted by the state of Ohio. So if you know something and you don’t tell me, you might get in real trouble for aiding and abetting.”
I pursed my lips wondering if that meant I’d have to go to jail just for knowing something.
The one standing next to me handed me one of his cards also. Then they both got in the shiny car and drove away.
I stared at the card. It had gold letters printed on a white background. I read it out loud.
“Jeremiah J. Jenkins, Ph D, Department of Geology, Ohio State University.”
Spikes took it from my hand. “Well, they ain’t cops.”
