From the Ashes (Witches of The Demon Isle Book 8) by Rachel Humphrey-D'aigle Page A

bodies.”
    “Phew.”
    “Yeah. Exactly. Quiet mornin’ actually. I might have enough time for an entire cup of coffee.”
    “Shall we take bets?” enticed Melinda.
    “I don’t know as I’d go that far…” She barked out a sharp laugh. Like clockwork, Grace appeared with a filled mug.
    “Much obliged,” thanked Mack, taking a long swig. She took it black with heaps of sugar, and as soon as she set the mug down Grace poured her own and grabbed herself a seat.
    “Don’t want to bother ya, but the crowd,” she aimed at the locals inside her café, “just want to know if there’s anything doin’ to these dead bodies you’re both investigatin’.” She cast her gaze between Mack and Melinda, eagerly noting it had to be supernatural or the Howards wouldn’t be involved.
    Mack thrust out her half-empty mug with a sly, how-the-heck-did-you-find-out-about-that grin, and a refill me, and I’ll-share-what-I-can, head shake.
    The café owner topped off the mug pouring in more sugar.
    “I don’t want no friggin’ panic started,” warned Mack, straight off.
    That perked up Grace even more.
    “Two dead. Determined cause right now, vampire bite.”
    “Jumpin’ jellybeans!” gasped out Grace. The playful need to know, gone.
    “Two tourists. Probable cause of death is vampire…” Mack restated. “Don’t have any solid proof one way or the other.” Mack leaned in, a haughty grin on her lips. “Want to hear the excuse I used this time?” Like she already fully believed it was vampire bite and had to come up with a credible excuse for the outside world.
    “Oh you do come up with some doozies,” Grace praised.
    Ah, small town life, thought Melinda. Everyone knows everyone, and everything, and there is no business that can or will stay your own. It’s also easy to get bored and the best way to pass the time… gossip. Grace being the queen.
    “It’s almost too easy on this one,” Mack stated. “Rabies infected bats.”
    “Oh, good one. And so true. So true. Completely plausible. We do have some bigguns on the Isle.”
    “And sadly, not far from the actual truth,” Mack said less enthusiastically. “Like I said, Grace. No need to panic just yet. If I get proof, I’ll let you know.”
    And then Grace would let the rest of the locals know.
    Who needed an emergency broadcast system or a phone tree when they had Grace? She refilled Mack’s mug one more time, Melinda’s still nearly full as she’d only been sipping, and disappeared back inside her shop.
    “Oh what to do with that woman,” Mack gave out a sharp laugh.
    Melinda thought it odd to be so glib about the deaths, but when looking at what Mack had to deal with day in and day out, she supposed a sense of humor and getting a laugh in now and then did the woman good. Heck, it did them all good.
    “Grace is one of a kind,” Melinda decided.
    “And she makes a wicked muddy brew.” Mack tipped her mug to Melinda. She tipped hers back in agreement. “A nice dark brew to cure what ails ya.”
    “I’ll drink to that.”
    The creases around Mack’s eyes deepened as she took another swig.
    “You look like you got about as much sleep as we did last night,” noted Melinda.
    “Yeah, Charlie filled me in on your ongoing patrols.” She tipped her mug again. “Here’s to hoping the dang vampire up and goes away.”
    “I’ll toast to that one too. For once, just this once, let it be someone else’s problem.”
    “Amen.” They both drank and laughed. They’d never be so lucky. But at least it lightened the mood.
    The crowd on the street parted, oohing and aahing as a sleek black limo parted the bumbling about tourists and pulled up alongside the side of the street outside the café. Mack recognized the vehicle, having seen it about town a few times, but had yet to meet the owner. She had a sinking feeling her free coffee time was about to get sucked away. 
    A door opened and a middle-aged man popped out of the car. He was a taller, wiry