Forms of Things Unknown by Elizabeth Ireland
Hamlet,
Lillian Nolan is awakened in the dead of night by a strange voice.
She is shocked to learn that well known and admired actress, Louise
Hawthorne, has fallen to her death from the sixth floor of the
Tremont House. Was it an accident? Did she jump or was she pushed?
Louise’s former lover, and the main suspect, pleads with Lillian to
uncover the truth and clear his name.
In the process of learning to trust her intuitive abilities, Lillian
attempts to find balance between relying upon her gift and uncovering
the truth in her own way. But the menace of death pursues her and
soon her own life is at risk. When she finds herself in a trap from
which she cannot escape, her only hope of survival is to call upon
the metaphysical world.
Forms of Things Unknown is based on an actual event which
occurred in June of 1876 in Chicago. It is the third standalone book
in the Backstage Mystery Series.
THE BACKSTAGE
MYSTERY SERIES
Tagline: Life
upon the wicked stage can be deadly.
Set against
the backdrop of the Gilded Age, the Backstage Mystery Series stars
Lillian Nolan, an unconventional member of Chicago’s upper class
who dreams of a career of fortune and fame in the theater. Talented
and ambitious, she possesses a hidden skill which she is extremely
reluctant to use—the ability to communicate with those who have
died and now live in the world of “The Beyond.”
The series
chronicles her adventures in which she continually becomes enmeshed
in solving mysteries which often require her accessing the realm of
the paranormal. Filled with an incredible cast of characters—factual,
fictional, and sometimes non-physical—who either help or hinder her
quest for the truth, the stories take place during a period
considered to be the golden age of both acting and spiritualism in
America.
Excerpt for:
Ellesea
Loves Reading
In the summer of 1876,
Lillian Nolan, actress and sleuth, discovers the body of George
Morton, the husband of actress Louise Hawthorne. Had he killed
himself because he was responsible for his wife’s death?
Then I heard footsteps running
down the hallway past my door. It echoed in my memory and I recalled
that very same sound, same rhythm to the steps as on the night that
Louise had died.
I went to my door, opened it,
and peeked out. There was no one there. I shrugged it off, but when I
glanced to my left down the hallway, I noticed that the door to
Louise’s room was slightly ajar; this time only a crack of light
appeared in the hallway.
Once again I felt that
compulsion to investigate. It was so strong that it almost forced me
to physically take a step forward. Logic told me to mind my own
business. I was learning that while logic is understandable,
intuition was ruling my life more and more, and if I did not follow
it, it was to my own misfortune. I grabbed my wrapper and put my arms
through it and tied it around my waist.
I took a step out of my room
and softly closed the door behind me. I looked both ways down the
hall. No one. It was about three in the morning at this point and I
supposed any guests on this level were fast asleep in their beds.
I walked softly down the
corridor and stood in front of the door. It was unlatched and light
shone around the frame.
Again, I cautiously looked
around me.
“Mr. Morton?” I whispered
softly.
No answer.
I slowly opened the door.
The room was in disarray.
Clothes on the floor, bed rumpled. I wondered if a maid had been in
here since Mr. Morton took over the room. Then I noticed Mr. Morton
sitting at the table facing the window. His head was on the desk
turned away from me. But his body was at an odd angle, and his right
arm was hanging down along the side of his body.
Drunk again? Had he passed out
at the desk? Or had he just fallen asleep?
“Mr. Morton?” I whispered
again. “It’s Lillian Nolan.”
Nothing.
I noticed a bottle of whiskey
on top of the desk to his right which was almost completely empty. He
must assuredly have passed out from drink. I took a tentative step
forward and approached carefully. The smell of alcohol was pervasive
and overwhelming. I put my hand out to touch his shoulder.
That’s when I noticed the
blood running down the front of his shirt and vest. There was a
rather large red stain in the middle of his chest. I caught myself
before I touched him and a scream caught in my throat. I immediately
took a step back.
My first instinct was to run
from the room but a voice in my head said, stay,
observe.
I drew in a deep cleansing
breath. I took my handkerchief out of my wrapper pocket and put it
across my nose and mouth and slowly moved around to the left side of
Mr. Morton. There, next to his hand which lay palm up on the desk,
was the pistol I had seen the night Louise died. He had used to it to
kill himself. Why?
I wondered this so strongly that I felt that one word reverberate in
my head. I looked to see if he had left anything and there was a note
under his hand. It had been torn from another piece of paper.
I can’t live with myself
and without her.
That was all it said.
Did he just admit to killing
Louise? Was he truly guilty or just feeling that way? Had he been in
this room the night Louise died? Did he indeed know about the affair
between James O’Neill and his wife, and if so, would he have
succumbed to anger and killed her—accidently, perhaps—or on
purpose.
Elizabeth
Ireland discovered her passion for theater early. After receiving
undergraduate and graduate degrees in Theater, she accepted a
teaching position in a vibrant performing arts department at a
college in northern Illinois. For ten years, she taught, directed and
ran front-of-house operations. American Theater History—particularly
that of the 19th
century—has always been of particular interest to her.
She
has been a quarter-finalist and a semi-finalist for the Don
and Gee Nicholl Fellowship
in screenwriting sponsored by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and
Sciences. Two of her screenplays have been optioned, but remain
unproduced. Her nonfiction work, Women
of Vision: Ordinary Women, Extraordinary Lives,
was published in 2008. Her work has also been published in a
collection of paranormal short stories, Paramourtal:
Tales of Undying Love and Loving the Undead.
She lives in metro Atlanta with her ever-patient husband, and two
quirky dachshunds.
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