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Excerpt - The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

“Mr. McAllister . . .” Marisa stopped just inside the door, her eyes wide, taking in the disarray of the room. “What are you doing?”

She wanted to say something else, scream, but the cloth pressed over her mouth and nose was making her feel funny. The smell was familiar. She tried to remember what it was. A hand slipped under her blouse, cupping the small breast. Marisa tried to pull away, but her arms were too tired. She felt herself being lifted, placed on the bed. The smell pulled her deeper. No, she had to fight to stay awake. She had to tell him she wouldn’t tell anyone. Had to make him stop. Everything seemed to be happening from a distance. Marisa fought her way through the fog, hearing his curse as the zipper on her pants stuck. Hearing the fabric rip, feeling the cool draft as her body was exposed. He lifted the cloth from her mouth, shaking her awake. “You’re going to scream for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He placed a pillow over her mouth and nose, just as a sharp pain between her legs brought her to full consciousness. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared into the black eyes above her and screamed.

"Scream for me, sweetheart. Scream for Daddy."

Marisa screamed with every painful thrust until lack of oxygen made her body go limp, her mind numb. He continued to grunt and thrust long after her body became limp and lifeless. His climax was exhilarating. He was renewed. Humming his favorite tune, he jotted the words on the small pink card. A gift from me. You’re next.

Excerpt - Sacred Secrets

Charity woke with another splitting headache. She struggled to sit up, her huge frame cramped in the tight space. Memory returning. He’d come back, made her lie down in the back of the jeep. Then he’d drove for what seemed like days. Made her get out, walk down steps. That was the last thing she remembered until now.

It was dark as a cave and smelled of mildew. Charity felt around in the dark, looking for something, anything to tell her where she was. Her fingers closed around what felt like a candle. Pulling it close she continued to feel blindly. Where there was a candle surely there had to be matches. God just wouldn’t be that cruel. Her fingers closed around the box. She shook it gently. One rattle. Okay, so she had one chance of getting light into this place. Did she really want to do that?

Charity chided herself for her cowardliness. What would Ms. Laveau think if she saw her, sitting here on the cold concrete shivering like a baby.
Opening the matchbox, she took out the single match, set the candle between her legs and steadied herself. Holding her breath Chastity issued a silent prayer before running the match along the side of the box. It sputtered, flickered--caught fire.
Charity swallowed the urge to laugh hysterically, the effort of holding her breath making her somewhat giddy. She held the candle to the flame, her hand trembling so badly she was afraid for a moment she’d drop them both. The candle caught, its flame casting eerie shadows around the small room.

Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”

Excerpt - The Gifts - never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee

“Fire’s out, Sheriff. We opened the windows, but the smell is still pretty bad.”

Sarah nodded, her eyes misting. “Thanks, Billy.” Swallowing hard, she tried to stop the gagging reflex that hit her the second she entered The Lodge. There was nothing in the world worse than the smell of burned flesh. Tommy and three of the volunteer fire fighters were still outside vomiting, and Joshua looked slightly green, although he was holding up better than most. Dammit! They weren’t prepared for this. She wasn’t prepared for this.

“Are you okay, Doc?” Sarah noted the grayness of the doctor’s face, the blueness around his mouth as he slipped on his mask and nodded.

Sarah allowed her gaze to drift around the room, looking for something, anything to look at besides the badly charred body of what she knew must be Marisa Hutchins. They had caught the fire in time to save most of the room, but the body was burned beyond recognition. She swallowed hard again, concentrating on breathing through her mouth. She had to focus on her job, not her feelings. Her gaze fell on the small pink card on the dresser. Picking it up, she shivered as emotions ran up her arm, making her skin crawl, chilling her to the bone. Evil had its own special feel, and this was evil. A gift from me. You’re next.

“Anything on McAllister’s whereabouts?”

Sarah felt Joshua’s keen gaze on her face. She would have to look at him eventually. Struggling to control the overwhelming fear that threatened to pull her into the darkness, Sarah placed the card inside a plastic package and handed it to Joshua. She wanted a hot shower.

“He told me he was going to Richmond, but I didn’t ask where. Said he’d be back tomorrow.”

“I’m finished.” Doc Hawthorne rose, his shoulders drooping more than usual. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He’d delivered these children, watched them grow up. He shouldn’t have to sign their death certificates. “Not much more I can do here. I’d say it’s Marisa Hutchins. You can wait for the autopsy to make it official.”

Sarah grimaced. She didn’t need an autopsy.

“The Edgewood forensic team is on their way. Said they’d be here within the hour,” Joshua stated.

“Thanks, Joshua.” Sarah had hated calling in outsiders, but they just didn’t have the equipment, or the expertise, to handle this type of situation. Nothing like this had ever happened in Glade Springs. Gavin McAllister had a lot to answer for.

“What do you make of the card?”

Joshua was turning the package over in his hands. Sarah glanced at it, a cold chill running down her spine. . . . never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

“You’re next.” Joshua read the card out loud and glanced at Sarah. “Who do you think he means?”

“Not a clue,” Sarah lied. “We’ll run it through the system, see if anything like this has happened anywhere else.”

“Good idea.” Joshua hesitated, “Sarah, I think this card is for you.”

Sarah didn’t bother answering. She’d known the second she touched the card it was for her. You know, echoed in her mind.

“Joshua, stay here, lock it down and wait for Edgewood. Go ahead and do the photographs and sketches of the scene. I have to go tell the Hutchins.” Sarah knew her voice was quivering. She cursed silently at life’s cruel joke of giving her the ability to feel what others felt. She was having enough trouble controlling the pain and fear she’d picked up in this room. She didn’t know how she was going to handle the parents’ emotions.

“Sarah, why don’t you stay? I’ll go.”

Sarah met the concerned green eyes, not trying to disguise the pain in her own. “It comes with the territory, Joshua. It’s my job.”

“What do I do if McAllister shows up?”

Sarah considered her answer carefully. She knew Gavin McAllister hadn’t killed Marisa. The evil she’d felt in that room wasn’t attached to him. He could, of course, sue the city, but at the moment she didn’t give a damn. It wouldn’t hurt him to cool his heels for a couple of hours. And, dammit, he was partially responsible. If he hadn’t come here none of this would have happened. At least in jail he’d be safe and one less thing for her to worry about.

“Book him.”

Joshua nodded. Sarah was in charge. “The Hutchins are pretty religious people. Why don’t you call the new minister, have him meet you out there?”

“Bless you, Joshua. You always seem to know the right thing to do.”

“Comes with the territory, remember? It’s my job.”

Sarah exited The Lodge, her thoughts serious. Joshua would make a good sheriff. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about that when she left. She turned her thoughts to the new minister. She hadn’t had an opportunity to meet him or his wife. What was his name? Cooper. Picking up the cell phone, she automatically dialed the number and hoped it hadn’t been changed. How was she supposed to address him? Was it Reverend, Father, Pastor?

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Cooper?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sheriff Burns. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to call on you and welcome you to Glade Springs, but I wonder if I could speak with your husband, please?”

“He’s asleep, Ms. Burns.”

Sarah frowned. No Sheriff Burns, and the Ms. Had been spoken with disapproval. It was apparent Mrs. Cooper didn’t believe in women sheriffs. She probably didn’t believe women should work at all.

“Could you wake him, please? It’s an emergency.”

“Oh, no, I could never do that. Never.” The voice had changed, a slight tremor just beneath the words.

Good Lord, she’s afraid of him, Sarah thought. What kind of minister instilled fear in his wife?

“Mrs. Cooper, I’m sorry, I’m a little upset, and I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear. I know it’s late, but we’ve had a,” Sarah paused. “We’ve had a death in the community. The family is going to need him. Please put your husband on the phone.”

“I’ll have him call you in the morning.”

“Mrs. Cooper . . .”

The phone went dead. And people wondered why Sarah didn’t go to church. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God; she just didn’t believe in organized religion. As usual, she was on her own.

A half hour later Sarah stood outside, breathing deeply in an attempt to control the tears streaming down her face as she waited for Doc Hawthorne. Thank God he’d been here. She should have known he would feel an obligation to do just that. He’d been there for thirteen years through every broken bone, every cough or late night fever. He wouldn’t desert them now.

Sarah watched his approach, realizing for the first time just how old he was getting. She’d ignored the Mayor’s ravings at the council meetings that they needed to start looking for a younger doctor, someone more up to date. How much longer could he last? And getting a doctor to come to a small town like Glade Springs wouldn’t be easy. Of course, there was always Edgewood. It was only a two-hour drive, but what about emergencies? The next time the mayor brought up the subject, Sarah would be more open-minded. Not a replacement, because no one could ever replace Doc Hawthorne. Maybe a partner.

“I gave Irene a sedative. She’ll sleep until morning.” His eyes never left Sarah’s face, the question left unspoken between them.

“Dammit, Jim, I can’t stop him if he wants to see her.”

Doc nodded. Edsel Hutchins wanted to see his daughter. “Call me when he comes in. I’ll be there.”

Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He would be there, sedative in hand. They both knew sedatives weren’t going to help Edsel Hutchins when he saw his daughter’s body. It was almost two a.m. and Sarah felt a desperate need to hold Nikki. To know she was safe. That, like sleep, was a luxury she didn’t have. It was going to be a long night.

#samplesunday Soul Retrieval

Sometimes I enjoy looking back at things I wrote years ago just for fun.  This one still makes me chuckle just a little.  Hope you enjoy a bit of Sunday humor.

Soul Retrieval

Prophetic. The things we say. The things we do. They all move us in a general direction, pushing us toward our final destination.

At ten a.m. this morning, Hon. Jeremiah Sed Mason had opened his mouth and sealed his fate.

Now here I was. Standing on a street corner. Waiting for fate to intervene. Destiny to arrive.

The cigarette tasted kind of strange. Not at all like I'd remembered them. The body was nice though. A real traffic stopper. Not like the last one. Seniority had its benefits.

"Hey, sweetheart, I've got a hundred bucks, if you know what I mean."

Tossing the cigarette I turned toward the voice. I knew exactly what he meant. I even knew who he was. George Chatman. By day a floundering accountant. Tonight a pawn in destiny's plans. He'd been standing across the street for over an hour trying to get up the courage to make this move. Problem was poor Gina had officially retired about ten minutes ago. Letting my gaze move slowly down the oversized, unattractive, virtually repulsive frame, I smiled slowly, coming back to the nondescript beady eyes. "Sorry, I'm busy."

Gina had a nice voice. Deep and rather sultry. She probably had a lot of repeat clientele. Undoubtedly she would be missed.

"Oh, I see, my money's not good enough for you."

Lighting another cigarette I took a deep drag, blowing the smoke in his direction. The taste might have changed, but the world hadn't. Still full of pompous jerks who believed that money was God and bought all things. I'd like to believe that even Gina would have turned this one down.

"That's right, sweetheart, your money isn't good enough, and neither are you."
I could feel the rage growing inside him. One too many rejections in a world full of rejections. And this time by a woman he considered low on the scale of humanity. Someone so beneath him that the mere possibility of rejection had never entered his mind. The beady eyes twitched, hands clenching and unclenching just as the red convertible pulled up to the corner and parked. Right on time.

"Hey gorgeous, you ready?"

Without even a glance at my would-be suitor I let those long, luscious legs carry me towards the car. Throwing in a little extra swing of the hips. After all, Gina had the package. I might as well work it.

I wasn't surprised when the bullets struck, but Jeremiah was. I liked the look of shock and pain that crossed his face right before his soul exited his body. Pain was something he would need to get used to.

Things happened rather fast. People screaming, rushing for safety. The police officer yelling at George to drop his gun. Which of course he did. Putz.
Pushing out of Gina's lifeless body I waltzed over to Jeremiah. Another benefit of seniority. I got to keep Gina's image until the next time.

"Let's go, Jeremiah," I stated in that deep sultry voice taking him by the arm.

"Where are we going? What happened? Are we dead?"

Always the same. "Don't you remember what you said this morning, Jeremiah?"

"What I said this morning?"

Some jerks were worse than others. "Yes, Jeremiah, this morning. When you signed those documents to let an innocent man take the fall for your good friend Judge Lehman. Don't you remember how the two of you laughed, and Judge Lehman asked you where you were going?"

I loved the look on his face as realization slowly dawned. I smiled. Gina's warm, sexy smile.

"You said, 'To hell if I don't change my ways'. "



Love mysteries with great plots and subplots that keep you guessing all the way to the end? Take a moment and download a sample of The Jacody Ives Mysteries or Catherine Mans Psychic Suspense. Not your cozy mysteries. Contains strong adult language and some graphic scenes, so be sure to check out the sample first.

Friday Excerpts and Teasers

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THE GIFTS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY

Setup: Sheriff Sarah Burns was born with what her grandmother calls “The Gift”. In the final throes of death, souls reached out to her with dying messages. Only this time the message was for Sarah.

“He’s coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you.”




SACRED SECRETS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY

Setup: Charity Froste is one of three women missing. A prostitute, a nurse and a voodoo woman (Charity). Two of them are already dead.

Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

The Jacody Ives Mysteries - Limited time only--get both for less than $5.00!

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The Gifts $2.99 and Sacred Secrets $1.99. Also available on Smashwords and B & N.



Excerpt From The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sheriff Sarah Burns pulled off the road and parked near the site of Saturday night’s tragic accident. Unnatural deaths were rare in Glade Springs, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something.

An image of Morgana Nelson clutching the body of her daughter, her heartbroken cry echoing through the morgue, flashed through Sarah’s mind.

Maybe it was only wishful thinking. The Nelsons were good people, and Johanna had been their only child. The accident made no sense. Johanna wasn’t the typical eighteen year old. She didn’t run off to Edgewood or Richmond after graduation, looking for a larger city and more excitement. She didn’t stay out late. She didn’t drive fast. She didn’t drink. So why had she been here, driving so fast she missed the curve? The toxicology reports weren’t in yet, but the body had reeked with the smell of alcohol. The Nelsons had questions, needed answers.

Climbing out of the Explorer, Sarah walked toward the curve as she closed out the noises around her, traveling the path Johanna had driven. Emotions were strong here. She could feel the sadness—and the anger. Johanna was upset.

Sarah moved into the curve slowly, feeling the shift in the emotions surrounding her. Panic took over, quickly turning to fear. She retraced the path the car had taken as it skidded off the road into the huge oak tree.

Crouching near the point of impact, she placed her hand on the earth and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she felt physical pain and then all emotions ceased.

Sighing, Sarah stood up. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find. Let it go, Sarah, she chided herself. Some questions have no answers.

Heaving another sigh, Sarah started toward her vehicle. She was tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Last night’s dream had upset her. All day she’d been haunted by the image of the dark brown eyes filled with pain, the heart-wrenching cry that had jerked her from an uneasy sleep. The whispered message that had kept her lying awake, trembling as she listened to the sounds of the night.

She hated the dreams. Hated the feeling of helplessness they created inside her as the dying reached out, sending messages to loved ones, or crying out for vengeance against their attacker. Only this time the dream had been different. This time the message was for Sarah.

Sarah shook herself mentally, pushing away the memories, the fear. It was just a dream. And this was just a horrible accident. Accidents happened—especially when teenagers drank. Her foot touched the passenger tire track imprinted in the soft earth near the tree. A feeling of panic clutched at her, growing stronger, making it hard to breathe.

“Jesus,” she muttered as she stepped away from the track, breathing deeply.

Kneeling, she touched the earth, holding her breath, as emotions flowed through her fingertips. Unlike the driver’s side, the panic here continued to escalate. There was no physical pain, no ceasing of emotion. This was what had been bugging her. The something missing. Johanna Nelson had died almost instantly, but she hadn’t died alone. Someone else had been in the car with her when she crashed into that tree.

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Set up: Nurse Sally Morse realizes that something is wrong with Katie O'Connor's heart transplant. The doctors don't believe in cellular memory, but Sally does. Determined to find out why Katie woke screaming "take it out" Sally breaks hospital rules to find out more about Katie's donor.

Excerpt from - Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sally Morse opened the file drawer slowly, avoiding the squeak that generally met her ears. She looked around nervously. She’d be fired if she were caught. But she had to know. She shivered as she remembered Katie’s screams. Screams Hollywood would have paid dearly for. The kind that raised the hair on the back of your neck, quickened your heartbeat. Screams of terror.

But it was the whispered words that perturbed Sally, made her pull the file from the drawer. It was more than a dream. And she didn’t care what Dr. Wagner thought, she believed in cellular memory.

Sally’s face burned, humiliation washing over her as she remembered Dr. Wagner’s scathing remarks.

It wasn’t her fault life hadn’t given her the perfect figure, gorgeous hair and a winning personality that doctors loved to fawn over. Instead she’d been cursed with stringy black hair, a bean pole frame that would never have curves no matter how much she ate, and eyesight that required thick lenses. The other kids had laughed at her. She’d grown up with the taunt of “raccoon eyes” forever imbedded in her brain, like bits of jagged glass. Cutting occasionally, just enough to make her miserable. Like now.

“Dammit, I’m a good nurse, and I care about people. That counts more than big boobs and a tight ass in my book.”

Sally hesitated a scant second before opening the file. What she was doing was wrong. A violation of her oath. Yet, there were times, like now, when she felt the oath was wrong.

Her hands started to shake as she fumbled with the clasp on the folder. Angry with herself, she jerked it open. She’d never been a coward, and she wasn’t going to start now. So what if she did get caught? Wasn’t Katie worth it?

Sally read the notes quickly. A priest? She breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t some psychotic maniac. What harm could a priest’s memories do? Still the absolute terror in Katie’s eyes, the whispered “take it out” made her read more. Suicide? Why would a priest commit suicide? “Because he did something unthinkable,” her mind whispered, causing her hands to shake even more as she closed the clasp, replaced the file in the cabinet.

Sally closed and locked the cabinet. She’d risked her career, but at least she had a starting point. Something she could look into, and maybe something she could help Katie with. Dr. Wagner was wrong. Something was wrong with Katie’s situation.

“Oh, crap,” Sally exclaimed, glancing at her watch. She was late for her meeting with Wagner. He’d be furious. Opening the door cautiously she scanned the hallway.
Sally locked the door, heading for the elevator at a quick pace. It was too quiet here. Almost like the morgue. Ominous. She turned once, hearing footsteps behind her, the soft sound of breathing. “Is someone there?”

Silence. Sally started walking again, this time her pace quicker. Reaching the elevator she pushed the button as she glanced over her shoulder down the hallway. She could see the shadow hidden within the shadows of the basement. There was someone there.

The ping of the elevator caused her to jump, but she quickly entered, hitting the button to close the doors. Only when the doors were completely closed did she dare to breathe. Pushing the button for the third floor she leaned against the wall, her thoughts frenzied. Why had someone been watching her? And even worse, why hadn’t they wanted her to know they were there?

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Ripple In Time - WIP Part 2

I haven't decided exactly what I'm going to do with this. Short story, novella or novel. Ideas are running rampant and I hope to really get started on it this week.
Hope you enjoy.

Part 2


Fumbling with the doorknob she finally got it open and sprinted across the room to Casey's bedroom, turning the handle and pushing. The door wouldn't budge. "Casey!" Valerie pounded on the door, continuing to push.

"What?" Casey pushed the chest away from the door and opened it a crack. "Jesus, Val, it's only four a.m. I knew you wanted to get an early start but this is…" Casey took a good look at Val's face, noting the paler than usual complexion, as well as the tears streaming down her face. Pushing the chest completely out of the way she opened the door. "What's wrong?"

Valerie struggled to bring her breathing back to normal. "I heard a scream. I thought. . ." She couldn't finish the sentence, instead she reached out and pulled

Casey into a tight embrace. "I thought he'd killed you."

Casey broke the embrace. "Who, that sweet little old man you rented this place from?"

Valerie had the decency to flush. "Okay, so he gave me the creeps too. But I did hear voices and then there was this horrible scream."

Sighing, Casey knew she wasn't going to get back to sleep so she headed for the kitchen and a fresh pot of coffee. "Maybe it was your lady in white?"

Valerie perked up at the idea, but immediately discarded it following Casey into the kitchen. "Ghosts don't usually talk in groups, and I've never heard one scream like that."

Casey filled the coffee pot and turned it on taking two cups down from the cabinet. "You're always telling me that it's an unknown phenomena. How do you know ghosts don't scream like that?"

Valerie pondered the question for a moment. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded human. Too human. "Well, I'm going to ask Mr. Jenson if there's anyone else around here, and if there is we're going to get at least part of our money back."

Casey chuckled, and shook her head. "We stole this place as it is, Val. Two hundred dollars for a full month? I expected it to be run down, poorly furnished and a real dump. Instead it's clean, and the furniture looks almost new. Where else could we find a deal like that?"

Casey's words sunk in and Val felt the hairs rise along the back of her neck. What had she been thinking when she'd read the brochure? "Yeah, where else could anyone get a deal like that?" She whispered.

# # #

Grabbing her easel, canvas and paints Valerie headed to the clearing at first light. Two pots of coffee and daylight had gone a long way in dispelling her earlier fears. It really was beautiful here, and she couldn't wait to start painting.

At least Mr. Jenson hadn't lied about the clearing. Setting up her easel and canvas Valerie walked around the clearing, getting a feel for the place. She had the feeling something had stood here in the past. Perhaps another cabin. The grass was lush and green as if tended by some unknown hand. The forest closed it off in a perfect circle.

Returning to the easel she prepared her pallet and picked up a brush. "Okay, guys. Show me what you want me to see."

Valerie knew she often tranced out when painting and hours passed like minutes. Still she was surprised when she looked around and noticed the deepening shadows and sun disappearing below the horizon. Where had the day gone? Standing back she looked at the canvas and frowned. She recognized the clearing, but there was definitely something new there. A huge stone occupied the center. More disturbing though was the water-like ripples flowing from left to right. The painting was ruined. Sighing she packed up and headed back to the cabin. Casey was just coming out the front door as she trudged up the porch.

"Hey, I was just coming to look for you. I had to cook supper again and it was your night."

Valerie shrugged, mumbling as she passed her. "Sorry, I lost track of time."
Casey followed her into the cabin. "You better put something on that sunburn. What happened anyway?"

Tossing the painting into her bedroom, Valerie put her easel and paints away before coming back to the living room and flopping on the couch. "Bad paint, I guess. A total day wasted."

"I doubt that. You only buy the best paint. Let me have a look." Casey picked up the discarded painting, frowning as she noted the ripple effect. "Is this the clearing you were in?"

Valerie nodded. "With the exception of the rock in the middle."

Casey looked closer. "That's not exactly a rock, you know."

Valerie joined her looking closer. "Looks like a rock to me."

Casey gave her a condescending look. "You really need to get out more. It's an altar."

"Altar? What kind of altar? And what's for dinner?" Valerie took the painting and propped it against the wall. Maybe it wasn't a wasted day after all.

"Looks like a sacrificial altar to me, and we're having franks and beans."

Valerie grimaced. "We had franks and beans last night."

Casey grinned. "Maybe tomorrow night you'll cook."

#samplesunday Ripple In Time - A WIP

"Okay, tell me again why Connecticut?" Casey Burgin asked, wiping the sweat out of her eyes as she geared down to take another rocky hill on the road from hell, which supposedly would lead to the cabin of their dreams.

Valerie Marsh grabbed for the door and dash as they hit another bump in the road, wondering not for the first time if Casey's beat up '97 CRV was going to make it to the cabin. "You said you wanted something off the beaten path." She grinned as the road finally evened out. "You have to admit this is definitely not a beaten path."

Casey slowed to a snail's pace as overgrown tree branches closed in around them. "I don't think anyone has been up this path in years, Val. Where the hell did you find this place?"

Valerie pouted and pulled out the brochure, tossing it across the seat. "Someone mailed it to me right after my last art show. Said it was just the kind of place for my paintings."

Casey cast a quick sideways look, eyebrows raised and jaw set as they hit another rut in the road. "Meaning?"

Valerie shrugged. "I guess because of the lady in white."

Casey cursed under her breath, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. "Another lady in white? I mean, what is that about 20 in the last two years? I think every state has one."

"Not like this one," Valerie smirked. "She's been documented on video and photographs."

"Oh, and that makes it real." Casey grimaced, avoiding another hole in the road. "Do you have any idea how much of that stuff turns out to be fake every year?"
Valerie sat back in her seat and stared at the passing countryside. "I'd know if she was fake. There's something here, Casey. Something really strange. I can feel it."

Casey turned a corner and the cabin came into view. "And just where is this lady in white supposed to materialize? You can't expect me to maneuver up and down this God-forsaken road in the dark."

Valerie shook her head. "A lot of people have seen her along Route 59 and inside the Union Cemetery. They say she actually darts in front of passing cars. One driver even thought he'd hit someone the night she darted in front of him, but they could never find a body even though there was a dent in the hood of the car. A lot of renowned ghost hunters have been here. One group even documented hearing a woman weeping one night in the cemetery."

Casey pulled up in front of the cabin and parked turning to give Valerie her best "you're kidding me look". "Really, Val? A woman weeping in a cemetery. That would sure convince me it was haunted," she replied sarcastically as she looked at her home away from home for the next month. She was already thinking the cabin was a perfect backdrop for "The Hills Have Eyes" when the front door opened and a perfect character for the next "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" movie walked out.

"Who the hell is that?" She whispered.

Valerie grabbed the brochure, stuffed it in her purse and opened the door of the CRV with a smile. "If you'd read the brochure you'd know. That's our landlord, Mr. Jenson."

Casey followed her from the vehicle at a much slower pace. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, or anything already dead. It was the living you had to worry about.
Landlord my ass. That man's the next serial killer in my newest novel, and you can bet a sweet penny I'll be pushing furniture against my bedroom door every night.

Shaking the proffered hand, Valerie continued to smile while fighting the urge to rush inside and wash her hand. There was no way she was going to let Casey know the sight of Mr. Jenson had totally freaked her out. The picture on the brochure had to be from another century when he still looked human. The bony fingers that had clasped hers were cold and stiff, belying the 90 degree temperature outside the cabin.

"Mr. Jenson, this is my friend Casey Burgin. You may have heard of her, she has several best sellers on the market."

Casey shot Valerie a withering glare as the cold bony fingers closed around her hand. "Nice to meet 'ya. Afraid I don't read much." Handing Valerie the key, he stepped down from the porch. "Live about a mile south of here. You girls need anything you just let me know."

Casey and Valerie stood on the porch watching as he shuffled slowly down the overgrown lane and disappeared into the trees. Casey wiped her hand on her jeans. "You can't tell me you didn't find him just a little creepy, Val."

Opening the screen Valerie stepped inside the cabin calling over her shoulder. "With the things you write and things I paint, most people find us a little creepy. He's probably just a nice old man."

Casey doubted that, but followed her inside pleasantly surprised that although the cabin was small, it was immaculate. She'd imagined a ratty old sofa with rusted springs, and spider web covered furniture. Peering into the bedrooms she called out. "I've got dibs on the blue room. The view is gorgeous."

Valerie joined her at the window. "See, told you you'd like it here. You can set up right here in front of the window and kill all the people you want."
Casey grinned at her, flopping on the bed. "Yeah, but what about you?"

Valerie continued to stare out the window. "Mr. Jenson says there's a clearing about a quarter of a mile from here that I might find interesting."

Casey sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone. Especially to some place he recommends. He may be a sweet old man, but there's something in his eyes that sent chills down my spine."

Valerie nodded. She'd felt it too, but then she often had that chilled feeling. Especially when she was painting. "Let's get unpacked. I saw a grill out back, and you're cooking tonight."

Casey groaned leaving the comfort of the bed. She hated cooking. "I saw a nice bed and breakfast on the edge of town. If we stayed there we could order room service."
Valerie chuckled. "And miss all this ambience? You can't tell me you don't already have a murder rolling around underneath that curly mass."

# # #

Two hours later unpacked, fed and feeling the effects of the long drive they retired to the porch swing with a bottle of wine. Nightfall was descending fast and a multitude of sounds cascaded from the forest. Valerie could tell Casey was itching to get started on her new novel. She felt the same itch, wanting to grab her easel and paints. Standing up she stretched and turned toward the cabin. "I'm calling it a night. I want to make an early start in the morning."

Casey refilled her glass and sipped it, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up. "Go ahead. I'll lock up."

Valerie woke to the sound of muted voices, rising and falling in a song-like crescendo. Rolling over she punched the pillow, irritated at the thought of sharing their getaway with other campers. Mr. Jenson had promised they would be the only ones in a ten mile radius. Closing her eyes she allowed the warmth of the bed coupled with the cool air from the air conditioner to lull her back to the pre-sleep stage. A blood-curdling scream broke the silence of the night as a thin line of hairs stood up all over her body. Tossing back the covers she sprang from the bed. Casey.

Independent Authors Network - Unique Books by Unique Authors

For other great authors and books, as well as our Readers Cafe and contests, stop by the IAN and stay a while. I'm sure you'll enjoy your visit.

Casseroles and The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery - Meet the Characters

Shoepeg Corn Casserole

1/2 C. chopped onion
1/3 C. green pepper
1/2 C. Celery
1 C. French green beans - drained
1 C. shoepeg corn
1 C. celery soup
1 8 oz. sour cream
1/2 C. cheese - grated
Salt and pepper to taste
1 stack Ritz crackers
1 stick oleo - melted

Sauté onion, green pepper, and celery. Add remaining ingredients except crackers and butter. Crumble crackers as a topping. Dribble melted butter over all. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

English Pea Casserole

1 sm. Onion - chopped
1 green bell pepper - chopped
1 stick butter
2 cans English peas - drained
1 C. water chestnuts chopped (with liquid)
1 can mushroom soup

Sauté onion and pepper in butter. Add peas, water chestnuts and mushroom soup. Put in square baking dish and top with buttered crumbs. Brown until bubbly and crumbs are brown.

Sweet Potato Casserole

1 lg. can sweet potatoes
1/2 stick margarine
1/2 t. apple pie spice
1 1/2 C. sugar
3 eggs
3/4 C. condensed milk
2/3 C. potato juice
1/4 t. vanilla

Heat potatoes and juice. Drain and save 3/4 cup juice. Mash margarine with potatoes. Add apple pie spice, sugar, eggs, condensed milk, potato juice, and vanilla. Beat all together in mixer. Bake 1 hour at 350 degrees. Put mixed topping on baked casserole. Place under broiler until brown.


Topping
1/4 stick oleo
1/2 C. sugar
2 T. milk
1/4 t. salt
1 t. vanilla
1/2 C. pecan halves


Hamburger Casserole

1 pound ground beef
2 tablespoons butter
4 medium sized potatoes
2 onions
1 teaspoon salt
dash pepper
1 cup tomato soup

Brown the beef in skillet with butter. Cut potatoes in 1/2 inch cubes and spread in a baking dish. Cover with half the meat. Add half the soup and a sliced onion. Season with salt and pepper. Repeat, using remaining ingredients. Bake 1 1/2 hours in a 350 degree oven. More soup may be added during baking if needed.




Gavin The nightmares were getting stronger, the screams louder, closer. And this time there had been blood and pain. The knot in his stomach still hurt, and there was a strange ache in his chest. An eerie sadness. “What the hell have I done?” he whispered.

Sarah She hated the dreams. Hated the feeling of helplessness they created inside her as the dying reached out, sending messages to loved ones, or crying out for vengeance against their attacker. Only this time the dream had been different. This time the message was for Sarah.

Carl “Didn’t expect an old biddy like you to hit a man so hard.” He groaned, opening his eyes and glaring at Millie. Clarence stepped next to Millie, placing an arm protectively around her shoulders. “I’m afraid I hit you, Mr. Jackson. Saw you skulking around and followed you.” Carl turned his fierce gaze on Clarence, but held his tongue. The old fart looked pretty tough, even barefoot. Besides, he wasn’t in any shape to take on the two of them.

Rob The words cleared the remaining fog from Rob’s brain. Taking the mug of steaming coffee from Carl’s hand, he sat down at the table. His head still pounded, but his eyes were sharp and clear, his voice strong, “I’ve got your back, Carl.”

Nikki
A heartbreaking smile lit up the small face. Gavin found himself entranced, images flowing through his mind. He could see himself teaching her to play ball, pacing the floor while she was out on her first date, walking her down the aisle. He mentally shook himself, dispelling the images as he concentrated on what she was saying. “I’m going to write books some day about a beautiful ballerina who travels all over the world and solves crimes and helps people.”

Millie Millie couldn’t stop herself from lifting the blinds and taking a quick peek to see if he was still there. A slight pang of disappointment filled her when she saw he had already entered the flower shop. “Flirtatious old coot,” she muttered to herself as she opened the bookstore for business. Always calling me Millicent. She stopped her muttering as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the counter. The slight flush on her cheeks and sparkle in her eyes belied her age, as did the spring in her walk. The old fool had her feeling like a teenager. Maybe she’d just take a walk over there and see those new roses. He could probably use a good cup of coffee. Might even ask him over for dinner one night. Possibilities. The old coot had definite possibilities.

Joshua Taking the mike, Joshua lowered his voice. “Listen, Sarah, get everybody you can out to the old mill on Elliott Pike. I’m sending Gavin back with Nikki. I’ll stay here and watch Cooper until backup arrives.” Joshua clicked off, his eyes meeting Gavin’s over Nikki’s head. “That’s the way it’s gonna be, partner." Gavin nodded. He knew somebody had to stay. “No heroes?” Joshua grinned, popping a fresh toothpick between his teeth. “I ain’t the hero type.”

Clarence Millie smiled, still running her hand over the smooth surface. “She’s a real classic.” “Yep.” Clarence moved in, putting his arm around her. “Classics are hard to find today. When I find one, I tend to hold onto it.”

Featured Author - Seb Kirby - Take No More

I was raised with books - my grandfather ran a mobile library in Birmingham and my parents inherited a random selection of the books. They weren't much interested in them; the books were piled up in a box room, gathering dust. I would disappear in there and resurrect much used classics - Zane Gray 'Riders of the Purple Sage', H G Wells 'The Invisible Man', Charles Dickens 'A Tale of Two Cities' and more obscure stuff that I don't now recall. I was hooked.

There was gap, a long gap, until I was lucky enough to find an inspirational school teacher. He donated his own books to make a lending library in a stock cupboard off the classroom. Kids queued to borrow the books. Except these were the classics - Franz Kafka 'Metamorphosis' and 'The Trial', George Orwell '1984' and 'Animal Farm', Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn 'One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich', Ray Bradbury 'Fahrenheit 451', Boris Pasternak 'Dr Zhivago', Arthur Koestler 'Darkness At Noon', Vladimir Nabokov 'Pale Fire', Ken Kesey 'One Flew Over the Cookoo's Nest', Aldous Huxley 'Brave New World'.............

I've been an avid reader ever since.

Interests

Writing. Jazz (Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, their modern day musical descendents). Writing about jazz. Science. Travel. Favorite places (in no particular order): Venice, Florence, San Francisco, San Diego, Boston, New York, London, The English Lake District, Lisbon, Crete.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My name is James Blake.

A single act turns my life upside down. I come home to find my wife, Julia, shot and bleeding. She dies in my arms.

The police are no help. I'm sure they're trying to fit me up for the murder.

I check Julia's messages and find just one. It says 'help me'. It comes with a strange, old-looking image of a woman being seduced. It's all I have to go on. That and the fact that someone is trying to kill me.

But I will find Julia's killers, no matter what it takes.

5 star reviews:

'It hooked me from the first chapter and keeps the pace going throughout…..'

'One of the best thrillers I have read in the past year…..'

'A thriller that grips you from page one……'

'Take No More' is fast-paced, 69,000 words, about 260 print pages.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WHAT READERS ARE SAYING:

An ordinary person is thrust into extraordinary circumstances and must develop the skills to overcome them. In this case, a husband tries to investigate his wife's unexplained death, and in doing so, finds himself thrust into the world of art restoration, priceless works of art, and a powerful Italian family with all sorts of secrets. Most of it is set in the city of Florence, and the author has clearly done his homework -- reading the novel is like taking a trip to Italy.

Check out these great reads:

#samplesunday Delicious recipe for Smoked Salmon & Cream Cheese Dip & read novel extracts by @TaniaLT http://tinyurl.com/69seyuq uq

#Samplesunday Exerpt from Newly Released" The Kincaid Way" http://ow.ly/4BibF& guest #poet #ebook @betcar1

#Samplesunday delicious recipe South African Babootie and 'The Crossing' excerpt from@Faithmortimer http://bit.ly/atFnJi

I have two one highlighting Alex and one for me.

#samplesundaycookoff this week I'm highlighting wonderful writer Alex Knight http://bit.ly/eAEIax and a Lobster Bisque #recipe PLZ RT.

#samplesundaycookoff http://bit.ly/hQTQq7 Death by Chocolate #recipe and a #thriller. What a fab combo. #kindle PLZ RT

#samplesunday Take No More http://tinyurl.com/5u9nwv6 A great new sample from this thriller #reading #thriller #art #kindle

An excerpt of a ghostly tale from Whispers, by @kj_author being released in May #ghost #paranormal #samplesunday http://ow.ly/4BKyc

#samplesunday A King in a Court of Fools – FREE serialized adventures of a young Tom Ryan.New post-The Caswell Gang http://bit.ly/fG5jpu RT

Cakes and grief. Child of the Portal. by @UKSarahBarnard http://ow.ly/4BNfP #samplesunday #samplesundaycookoff #recipe

Excerpt and some homemade fruit, veggie and chip dips

Introducing two of my favorite characters - Billy Dawson and Charity Froste. Hope you enjoy the excerpt and some really great cookout dips to try.


“And so it begins.” Billy Dawson flipped over the tarot card, placing it on top of the first card.

Charity Froste sighed, poured two cups of coffee and took a seat across the table from him.

“Jacody soon be on his way,” she stated, sipping the thick hot liquid. She rolled her eyes, noticing the cards. New fangled toys was what they was. She touched the medicine bag lying between her two huge breasts. Now there was real magic.

Billy didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He could feel her disapproval. “Tools, Miss Charity. The cards, the stones, the bones, they’re all just tools.”

“Dem’ bones don’t lie,” Charity chastised him.

Billy swallowed the laugh on his lips as the wind carried the sound to their ears. A lonesome sound. A sound of pain. A sound of heartache. The sound of a lost soul.

Billy turned over the next card. The Hanged Man.

Perhaps the sound of destiny.

Tonight a soul would pass into the netherworld. The white wolf would howl its mournful song. The elder would dance and sing his prayers to God. The dreamers would dream.

“Told you dem’ bones don’t lie.” Charity eyed him suspiciously. “You called the wolf, didn’t you?”

Billy shuffled the cards, ignoring the question. She knew the answer. “We can’t be interfering, Miss Charity.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Yes, ma’am, I reckon he is.”

“Ain’t right.” Charity clutched the cup tightly. Time was running out. Night would come all too soon. A dark night.

“No, ma’am.” Billy continued to shuffle, mindful to be respectful and listen. Answering her, although it probably wasn’t necessary.

Charity studied her reflection in the coffee cup. Lost in thought. “He didn’t choose the path he’s on.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t reckon he did.” Billy pulled another card. Miss Charity was losing her accent.

“Somebody chose it for him before he was even born. It just isn’t right, I tell you. And I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I can’t just watch him die. I’m not going to do that, Billy Dawson. You can’t ask me to do that.”

Billy reached for the last card, avoiding her searching eyes. He knew what she wanted. What she needed. She was waiting for him to say something. Answer the question she hadn’t asked. Condone her interference, or condemn her actions not yet taken. He could neither condone nor condemn. He’d already interfered. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Billy turned the last card over. The Devil grinned up at him. A male chained to his left, a female to his right. His smile a mockery of everything Billy believed in.

Lifting his head he met her gaze. There was nothing he could say to ease her pain. “I’m sorry, Miss Charity.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cheese Dip

2 lb. Mexican Velveeta Cheese
1 lb. sausage
1 - 15 oz. can stewed tomatoes

Brown sausage and drain. Melt cheese on low heat. Stir in sausage and stewed tomatoes. Do not drain. (for those with a love of "hot" stir in some jalapeno peppers).

Bagel Dip

8 oz. package cream cheese
1 cup MIRACLE WHIP
2 - 3 oz. Buddig beef packages
1 bunch green onions, chopped
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
Dash of garlic powder

Mix all together and chill.

Onion and Bacon Dip

8 oz. pkg. cream cheese, softened
6 slices bacon, fried crisp & crumbled
Dash of salt
1 medium onion, chopped fine
Miracle Whip

Mix first four ingredients together and add enough Miracle Whip to make smooth and of dip consistency.

Mexican Dip

1 - 8 oz cream cheese, softened
1 - 8 oz. carton sour cream
1 can refried beans
1 envelope taco seasoning mix
20 drops Tabasco sauce
3 green onions chopped

Mix all together. Spread in casserole dish. Cover with shredded cheese (about 1 cup). Bake at 350 for about 25 to 30 minutes until hot throughout. Serve with nacho chips.

Artichoke Dip

1 cup Parmesan Cheese
1 can artichokes
1 cup mayonnaise

Stir ingredients together. Bake in oven at 350 degrees for 40 minutes.

Veggie Dill Dip

1 pint sour cream
1 cup Hellman's mayonnaise
6 tsp. dill weed
6 tsp. minced onion
4 tsp. parsley flakes
2 tsp. Lawry's Seasoned Salt

Mix all together, chill; serve. Good with veggies or chips.

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery - Excerpt

My son wrote most of the poetry used in Sacred Secrets, but I did manage--with his help, to write one. It was my feelings and emotions related to Father Michael's struggle. I hope you enjoy the poem, as well as the excerpt.





Your plangent cries permeate my dreams
Lest I forget
That which I have become
Slipping into the verisimiltude
I have created
A myrmidon of evil
Panoply of secrets
Pulling me down
Into the brackish water of my dreams
‘Tis but a simple deed
To expiate my sins
Simple as life
Or death
I chose this cup
Now I must drink.


Father Michael felt the chasm widen. A vast wasteland of emptiness. Nothingness. He had nothing. He was nothing.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Father Michael?”

Father Peter’s words were a mere whisper, his hands longing to caress the parchment stored beneath the thick glass.

“Where . . .”

Father Peter turned to him excitedly. “A gift from your sister, Claire.”

Father Michael nodded. He’d recognized the painting immediately as one of John’s beautiful fakes. The Revelations of St. Bridget of Sweden. Two beams of light shone down from the hands of the Virgin and Christ, enthroned on the heavenly plane, joining into one single stream entering the eyes of the seated saint. Images were powerful in medieval times.

Father Michael lowered his head, closed his eyes. “Please . . .,” she whispered.

Images were still powerful.

Father Peter gushed on, his excitement uncontainable. “Of course, I know it’s a reproduction, but its beauty, its message is invaluable.”

A beautiful fake, just like me. Father Michael thought, the riving pain opening, surging. A raging river in which he was going to drown.

The words came from the midst of the chasm. Words he’d not intended to say. “I’ve lost all hope, Father.”

The words echoed in the small study, coming from all four corners, dowsing the sun streaming from the window, fading the colors of the parchment. Gripping the heart of Father Peter with pain.

He turned, excitement of the gift still etched upon his wrinkled face. Gasping as he gazed into open wounds, vivid pools reflecting suffering. Never before had he seen such agony. His hands fluttered in front of him, mind sifting through eighty years of life, searching for words to breach the chasm. Words of comfort.

“There is always hope, Father Michael. God is our hope.”

“I no longer hear His voice, Father.” He glanced at the painting. “No longer feel His light.”

“We must pray, my son.” Father Peter walked around the desk, placing his hand on the young priest’s shoulder. “We must pray that God will guide you in your hour of need.”

Father Michael sighed, placing his hand over the knotted arthritic joints of Father Peter’s fingers. “I have prayed, Father. I pray daily that God will take this cup from me.”

Father Peter felt the trembling in the hand covering his. Felt the despair. His words came unbidden. Words he knew not the source. Words he would ponder and regret in the days to come.

“Perhaps you must take the cup and drink from it.”

Father Michael embraced him. He had the forlorn feeling of being alone in the world. And that loneliness threatened to crush him. He whispered the words that sealed his fate. “Perhaps, Father. Perhaps I must.”


Looking for a great way to spend the weekend? Grab a good book--grab two!

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery
Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Friday's Fantastics- A little more of Find Me

I think I'm enjoying writing this book more than anything I've tried so far. It has been a challenge. The Voodoo religion, rituals and beliefs have been fascinating, and the more I learn the more my characters become real to me. I can only hope that I carry this forward throughout the book. Comments and critques welcome.

Setup: Catherine is with a Conjure man and his granddaughter. Tonight she will be initiated into the Voodoo religion, which she has discovered was her own religion and that her mother was a conjure woman.

Catherine felt the fear slowly change to anger. "Wait just a minute," she yelled, reaching out to grab Aureole by the arm and whip her around. "So that's why you've been treating me like crap, you blame me for your life?"

Aureole tried to jerk loose, but Catherine held on tight. "At least you had your
grandfather. He and your little community didn't do me any favors when they sent me off with the Mansfields. I didn't have anyone. They treated me like a leper, and that shed your grandfather lives in is a three bedroom ranch compared to the hole they stuck me in. So if anybody has a reason to be mad here it's me. Why didn't they give me back to my mother?"

"I thought they did." Aureole searched her face, seeing the truth. "Everyone told me your mother went away taking you with her."

Catherine shook her head. "I don't think I ever saw my mother again."

"Li se tan."

"Grandpa says it's time."

"Ask him to give us a minute, please."

"Yon minit, papa."

Catherine watched as the old man went back inside the shed. "Tell me what's going to happen now."

"You will drink, and then you will dream. Your dreams will take you to the spirit world. I cannot tell you more. Each journey is different. It would be easier if you were still a child. It is more difficult for them to trap a child."

"So you went through this?"

Aureole nodded. "We were supposed to go through it together. That way I could help you if you needed a translator. Some of the spirits still speak the old language."

"So you're a conjure woman?"

"Not yet. I am still in training. When Grandpa passes I will take his place in the community."

"Aureole, I'm not sure I want to be a conjure woman."

Aureole touched her arm, her eyes filled with sympathy. "We don't get to choose our path. It was chosen for us before we were even born. I'm sorry for what we both have been through. We are blood sisters, remember?" Aureole held up her thumb showing a tiny scar. Catherine lifted her hand, examining her own thumb and the same tiny scar. "You mama was very angry with us because we took the knife." Aureole grinned, her eyes peering into the distance as she remembered. "And because you bled like a stuck pig."

Catherine swiped at the tears. "I don't remember anything. I think that's worse than living with the Mansfields."

Aureole placed an arm around her. "Come, I will stay with you. We will fight your demons together, and then perhaps you will remember."

Catherine walked with her back to the shed. If Aureole spoke the truth then perhaps she would remember. Or perhaps she would die.

Thursday's Tease

It was getting dark, but Joshua continued driving, hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. Mary would worry, but dammit, he couldn’t go home yet. Not this way. Why? Why the hell did women feel they had to protect the cowardly bastards?

The memory of Ella Mae’s bruised and swollen face still burned inside him. She’d fallen all right. The same way his mother had fallen time and time again. Emotions washed over him. Rage, hate, love and guilt. He’d felt no remorse when his father died. He hadn’t killed him, though God knows he’d wanted to many times. But then he hadn’t tried to save him either. It had taken every ounce of his eight-year-old strength to drag his mother’s body from the burning car.

Pulling the Jeep to the side of the road, he cut the engine and rested his head on his hands. He hadn’t been able to save her, either. She’d died in his arms as he sat there watching the car go up in flames.

A heavy sadness descended upon him. He wouldn’t be able to save Ella Mae either—not unless she wanted to be saved.

Joshua relaxed his hands on the steering wheel, turning his thoughts to Mary and the child growing inside her. His child would never know the pain he’d had to grow up with. Never know the fear. Love flowed through him, chasing away the last of his rage. It was too late for dinner at the café, but he’d make it up to Mary. It was time he went home.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B003U4WVQ4/

Excerpt from WIP - Find Me

Setup: Catherine Mans has just learned that her real name is Catherine Abigail Blanchard, and the parents who had raised her are not her real parents. Now she's on the run, one step ahead of the FBI and an unstable psychic who is destroying her life and killing anyone and everyone close to her.


New Orleans was a fascinating place and under other circumstances she would have loved to explore the local shops, visited the tomb of Marie Levaeu, and sampled the local cuisine. This was where she was born. These were her people. She wanted to learn everything there was about them. She wanted for the first time in her life to feel at home somewhere. Like she really belonged.

" Fantom nan mache."

Catherine turned toward the voice, heart pounding. She didn't know what was being said, but she understood the tone. The eyes that met hers were huge, expressing fear and something else, perhaps awe or admiration. But why would this old man be afraid of her? Or admire her?

"I'm sorry, I don't speak French." Catherine stated, turning back to car and tossing in her packages.

"Ou se pitit fi manman ou lan."

Catherine turned back to him, taking out a few dollars. He clearly was very poor. "I'm sorry, I really can't understand what you're saying. Please take this."

A young woman stepped up beside the old man, reaching out to take the money. "It isn't French. It's Haitian Creole, and Grandpa said, 'The ghost walks' and 'You are your mother's daughter'."

"Ou vin. Rete avèk nou. Satan an pa jwenn ou."

"Non papa." The young girl took his arm, attempting to pull him away.

"Silans. Li te vin."

"Grandpa says you're to come with us. That way the devil can't find you. But I want you to say no, because if you come the devil will find us, and it will kill us."

Catherine could see that people were starting to gather, paying attention to the conversation. She couldn't afford that attention. She needed to end this without upsetting the old man too much.

"Please, tell your grandfather he has me confused with someone else. I'm not from here."

"Li di I 'ou te mele avèk yon lòt moun."

The old man shook his head, pointing to Catherine's eyes. "Pa gen erè. Ou se pitit fi ki mouri a Abigail Blanchard."

The girl looked at her more closely, a new respect showing in her eyes. "Grandpa says there's no mistake. You are the dead daughter of Abigail Blanchard."