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Permanent Sunset

Former television meteorologist Sabrina Salter’s new life in paradise was idyllic, sprinkled with new friendships, romance and a successful villa rental business, which just landed Villa Nirvana, the newest and most opulent villa in the Virgin Islands. But island life isn’t all sun and sand.

During the villa’s opening weekend, Sabrina discovers the body of a bride murdered on the eve of her wedding to the villa owner. The case gives the police a new reason to scrutinize Sabrina and her business, which they suggest provides inadequate security for its guests and should lose its license. Unless Sabrina can show the bride’s murder was unrelated to her or her business, her life on St. John will be over before sundown.

In order to clear her name and salvage her business, Sabrina dives into the deep end of an investigation riddled with infidelity, fraud, identity theft, and conspiracy in Permanent Sunset, the second in C. Michele Dorsey's riveting mystery series.

C. Michele Dorsey

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A DIFFERENT KIND OF HEART ATTACK

I feel guilty writing about my loss when so many have suffered so much more at the hands of Hurricanes Irma and Maria and now earthquakes in Mexico. I am safe stateside on beautiful Cape Cod. Although I lost the cottage I rented in Coral Bay in St. John, which became home to me, I am uninjured, have shelter, and the means to move forward. People I know and people I don’t know but care about have had their lives decimated.  Still, I must write because that is what I do, while others make music and art to convey the human experience.

I am having a different kind of heart attack, the kind no triple by-pass can fix.

            My heart is broken seeing the crispy drab plant life shrouding the once lush green Caribbean island of St. John that I fell in love with more than thirty years ago. I wept when I read about the birds, donkeys, goats, and other wildlife now stunned by an unfamiliar, hostile environment that replaced their nurturing world within hours. Children without schools. Families without homes. No wonder my EKG fell flat.

            I wish I could erase the sound of the screeching wind that still fills the ears of those who were determined to remain on-island while Irma, and then Maria, invaded a place so contrary to violence, natural or man-made, that it is called “Love City.” When I see the rubble where once stood the proud brightly colored structures built by men and women with hot sweaty labor and love, I am overcome with sadness that equals the admiration I felt witnessing their brave efforts.

I'm feeling the loss of the green, the birds, the lightness of living on an island inhabited by a community of people who understand and respect what it's like to be different. A tribe of those who dare to distinguish themselves not by what they own, but by who they are. I am mourning a place that becomes a state of mind, where ingesting the natural beauty of the world colors who you are.

            I am confounded, confused, and not ready to be angry, which some say is what will come next. For now, I wonder how hoping things haven’t gotten worse became a measure of good fortune. When realizing I did bring the book about the trees on St. John with me, even though it seemed silly at the time, becomes a moment of celebration.

I am daunted when words fail me for the first time. I know this will pass, my heart and island will heal. But for now, my heart attack hurts.

 

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Mystery

No Virgin Island

Sabrina Salter traded a high-pressure job as a Boston meteorologist for life as an innkeeper on sun-soaked St. John. But storm clouds roll in when Sabrina finds Carter Johnson, her most attractive guest, tucked up in a hammock way past check-out time...and he’s not just dead to the world, he’s just plain dead, with a bullet hole in his chest.

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