New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author ~ ~ ~ writing and streams of consciousness
Showing posts with label serial killers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label serial killers. Show all posts
Thursday, January 23, 2020
NEW RELEASE! $.99 for a limited time or free on Kindle Unlimited
Release day is always nerve wracking for authors. But when you wake up to an early review that blows you away--it puts it all in perspective.
Riveting Powerful Psychological Crime Fiction
Many thanks to the author for the digital copy of this psychological crime fiction. Read and reviewed voluntarily, opinions expressed here are unbiased and entirely my own.
WOW! Gripping, riveting, powerful ... there aren't enough adjectives to describe this tale of how far a mother will go to save her child .... and what a man will do to avenge his twin sister's torture and death.
Dakota Dale is a woman who has come back from the brink of insanity. Abducted by Christian Salyer, she was held for a year, tortured in unimaginable ways. She 'thinks' she shot and killed him ... but did she really? Christian's body was never found. Her memory is flawed .... and more women are dying.
Dakota is following the trail of bodies ... with one thing in mind. She will kill him .... he took something away from her besides her sanity .. he took her child.
Gabriel Browne lost his twin sister to the same monster who took Dakota. He doesn't believe Christian is dead ... and he wants to use Dakota as bait.
Well written, riveting story, unforgettable characters, with totally unpredictable ending ... this one checks all the boxes for me. My emotions were all over the place as the reader is taken back through Dakota's memories of what she endured .... and how she fought back. The ending totally blew me away.
I truly don't have words to express how emotional this review left me, but many thanks to the reviewer, Linda Strong. This was a highly emotional book for me to write and you got it, so it made all my earlier tears worthwhile.
$.99 @amazon Or read for free on Kindle Unlimited
Saturday, April 20, 2019
New Release and $.99 sale!
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Save $2.00 to $3.00 - $.99 sale
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Enjoy the discounts and Happy Reading!
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
The Forgotten - Meet the Characters - Dr. Mary Ann Coomer
Dr. Coomer is named after one of my lovely fans. My newsletter requested anyone wanting to be
mentioned in a future book to email me with their name. Like to see your name appear in a future
novel? Sign up for my newsletter at http://www.lindasprather.com
Dr. Coomer is an old country doctor who has been the
family doctor for the Redmonds for as long as Loki can remember, and who took
care of Loki’s grandfather until he passed away. Originally a bit part, I was
somewhat shocked when the serial killers had other plans for Dr. Coomer.
She’s dedicated to saving lives, feisty and her
sense of humor had me laughing out loud as her part developed and grew. A Christian woman, she often prays and talks
to God, although at times she has to ask for forgiveness as some of her prayers
and thoughts might be perceived as detrimental to the health of the killers.
A
couple of my favorite quotes from Mary:
“He’s
nuttier than your grandma’s jam cake, Anna Claire.”
She’d known the
second she laid eyes on Harriett Tatum that the wheels might be spinning but
the guinea pig had died a long time ago.
Available on all Amazon sites. Grab your copy now! The Forgotten
Sunday, September 4, 2016
#SundaySample - Chapter One - Tragic Deception
Best selling British author, M. A. Comley and I are proud to introduce the Deception series. Mel and I have talked about co-authoring for years, but only recently did we turn that talk into action. Although are genres are similar, our styles are somewhat different, and we wondered if we could find our rhythm. Once we found our character, Sergeant Alexandra Fox, the rest was easy. Early reviews of our introductory novella, Clever Deception, have thrilled and humbled us. If you're a member of Goodreads you can check out the early reviews there. Our first novel is now available for pre-order and will be released on October 1st. The novella, Clever Deception is also available for pre-order and will be released on September 14th. Book 2 is will under way. I hope you enjoy this sample of Tragic Deception. We believe Alex has a long and tempestuous career ahead of her.
Book Trailer for Clever Deception
TRAGIC DECEPTION
CHAPTER ONE
“As of eight o’clock this morning, we have three missing
babies. Only one is in our borough, but we’ll we working in conjunction with
all precincts. Talk to your CIs, keep your ears open, and knock down doors if
you have to—but find those babies.”
Commander Patterson was winding down his morning speech, and
for once, the squad room was quiet and somber. “Any questions?”
He waited only a second before issuing his final command.
“Then hit the streets and find those babies.” His dark eyes bored through the
crowd, homing in on her. “Fox, my office.”
Alexandra waited for the snickers and “Alex the Fox”
comments that usually followed his summons, which happened frequently—at least
once a month, and more likely than not, once a week. She shot a glance at her
current partner, Corey Graves, who averted his eyes and turned his back on her.
“Bloody tosser,” she mumbled as she pushed her way through the throng of
officers to follow the commander.
She knocked on the door and waited for the command that
would allow her to enter. Even after a year, Alex didn’t quite understand
American protocol. He’d ordered her to meet him in his office; why couldn’t he
just leave the damn door open?
“Come in.”
Opening the door, she stuck her head inside. “You wanted to
see me, sir?”
Patterson sighed heavily. “Come in and close the door behind
you.”
Alex stepped inside the room, closed the door, and took her
position in front of his desk. She’d made the mistake once of sitting down
without an invitation. Her face flushed at the memory. Patterson didn’t like
her, and she knew if it weren’t for Chief Brown, he would have fired her on the
spot. She’d learned to play Patterson’s game, but she didn’t like it.
Patterson eyed her over his glasses, a smirk playing around
his lips. “No surprise, but Officer Graves no longer wishes to partner with
you. He called you a ticking time bomb.”
“Right. Like I’m the bloody one off with the fairies.”
His face blanched. “What the hell does that mean, Fox?”
Alex met his gaze head on. “It means Graves needs to pull
his head out of his arse, stop ogling the skirts, and do his job. Most of us
eat three times a day. Graves has to be laid three times a day, or he can’t
function.”
His gaze slowly drifted away from hers when she refused to admit
defeat. He opened the window behind the desk, then leaned back in the chair,
bit off the end of a cigar, and lit it. His eyes held a challenge when they met
hers again. Smoking had been banned in New York for several years. An officer
could actually be dismissed if caught smoking on the grounds. She could report
him, but Patterson would probably get a slap on the wrist, and warning. “You’ve
lost six partners in the last year, Fox. I suppose all of them were ‘off with
the fairies’?”
The anger bubbling just below the surface rose, and Alex
clenched her hands at her side. He’s
probably going to fire me anyway, so sod it. “I have never lost a partner, sir. Not one of them has
been shot, knifed, beaten, or killed. I do my job, which is to have their back,
not inflate their egos or their willies.”
Patterson puffed on the cigar and blew smoke in her
direction. “Sit down, Fox.”
Pulling out a chair next to his desk, she sat, steeling
herself for a long lecture on the importance of loyalty and fitting in. A chill
shivered down her spine. She hoped he didn’t ask her about the bloody book he’d
given her last time. How to Win Friends
and Influence People. She’d thrown it in the trash after reading the first
chapter.
“You passed all the protocol for detective.” Patterson ruffled
the papers on his desk as he continued to huff and puff on the cigar. The smirk
around his lips widened. “Except one—a recommendation from me.”
“I’m a good copper, sir. I deserve that promotion.”
He shrugged. “The problem is your attitude and your refusal
to fit in.”
Anger surged to the surface again, and she gripped the arms
of the chair. “You mean conform, sir.
Not fit in.”
He eyed the white knuckles, and Alex took a deep breath,
forcing herself to relax as Patterson continued. “You’re not in England, Fox.
Half the time, we can’t understand what the hell you’re saying, and the other
half, we feel like you’re insulting us.” His jaw tightened, and his eyes
darkened. “Fit in or get out.”
“Recommend the promotion, and I’ll be out of your hair,
maybe even out of your district.”
He chuckled. “I’ll do you one better.” He rummaged through
the papers on his desk then pulled out a file and passed it to her. “You want
to be a detective? Find those babies before the FBI does, and I’ll recommend
your promotion.”
Alex flipped through the file, which contained some of the
same information that had been passed out earlier, along with a more in-depth
case summary listing the names and addresses of the parents, doctors, nurses,
and hospitals as well as pictures of the newborns.
“You’ve got a week. That’s how long I’m suspending you.”
Her head jerked up, and she once again met the dark gaze.
“Suspending me? For what, sir?”
“Insubordination.”
He continued to puff on the cigar and blow smoke in her
direction. He wanted her to challenge him. She hadn’t been insubordinate, but
he knew if he pushed hard enough, she could be.
“And how exactly am I supposed to investigate while under
suspension? I won’t have access to anything.”
He sneered. “You like working alone. Isn’t that what you’ve
told me for the last year?”
Alex closed the file and stood. “And if I can’t find them in
a week?”
“Send out some resumes. You’ll be looking for a new job.”
$.99/99p pre-order
$.99/99p pre-order
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Für meine deutschen Freunde
I wish that I were good enough to translate this myself because some things become last in translation on Google translate, but I love the way it sounds even now. If you love English crime novels, check this one out.
My Darling Dakota :
Ich bete, dass Sie mich heute Abend zu vergeben, denn ich Erinnerungen der Dinge für immer verloren. Vielleicht waren sie nicht in der Fantasie , die wir erstellt wichtig, aber manchmal frage ich mich, wenn wir falsch waren.
Ich habe daran gedacht, Akachi . Wussten Sie, sein Name bedeutet " die Hand Gottes " ? Das war wirklich wie ich mich fühlte , die Nacht , als sein Vater brachte ihn in mein Zelt . Er war kaum noch am Leben , nachdem er von einem Geparden, die nicht so selten ein Vorkommen in Südafrika , wie man denken könnte übel zugerichtet . Was war selten war für das Opfer , um zu überleben . Ich habe an ihm stundenlang fieberhaft Reinigung und die tiefen Wunden zu nähen . Er war acht und hatte die Jagd , begierig, seine Männlichkeit zu beweisen. Ich war mit ihm am nächsten Tag und Nacht, während der Stamm sangen ihre Gebete. Am zweiten Tag , öffnete er seine tiefbraunen Augen und sah mich an. In diesem Moment , meine Liebe , fühlte ich, dass ich den Höhepunkt meines Lebens erreicht hatte. Ich einen sterbenden Kind in meinen Armen gehalten hatte , und ich habe ihn gerettet hatte.
Und dann fiel mein Blick auf Sie , wie eine Vision von Schönheit , die mir den Atem weggenommen wurde , und mein Geist wurde taub für alle, aber das, was Sie sind. Ich habe diese Straße, die vielen Stufen unserer Fantasie gereist , und ich habe festgestellt, dass es Schönheit in beiden ein Leben zu retten und unter einem. Akachi wird nur eine kurze Zeit zu leben, für die Bühne seines Lebens bei der Geburt festgelegt . Wenn er nicht vor Hunger sterben, wird er sicherlich zugrunde gehen auf das Ende der Speer eines rivalisierenden Stammes Mitglieds. Und wer an ihn erinnern wird ? Wie die Tage vergehen , die Monate , die Jahre , die Jahrhunderte niemand Akachi erinnern.
Fürchte dich nicht, mein Liebling, denn obwohl die Erinnerungen verfolgen mich mal , ich habe nicht vergessen, wo ich hingehöre und was ich tun muss.
" In diesem Buch, das meiner Erinnerung ist ,
Auf der ersten Seite des Kapitels , das ist der Tag , als ich dich das erste Mal traf ,
Erscheinen die Worte : "Hier beginnt ein neues Leben. ' " Dante Alighieri
Get your copy now!
My Darling Dakota :
Ich bete, dass Sie mich heute Abend zu vergeben, denn ich Erinnerungen der Dinge für immer verloren. Vielleicht waren sie nicht in der Fantasie , die wir erstellt wichtig, aber manchmal frage ich mich, wenn wir falsch waren.
Ich habe daran gedacht, Akachi . Wussten Sie, sein Name bedeutet " die Hand Gottes " ? Das war wirklich wie ich mich fühlte , die Nacht , als sein Vater brachte ihn in mein Zelt . Er war kaum noch am Leben , nachdem er von einem Geparden, die nicht so selten ein Vorkommen in Südafrika , wie man denken könnte übel zugerichtet . Was war selten war für das Opfer , um zu überleben . Ich habe an ihm stundenlang fieberhaft Reinigung und die tiefen Wunden zu nähen . Er war acht und hatte die Jagd , begierig, seine Männlichkeit zu beweisen. Ich war mit ihm am nächsten Tag und Nacht, während der Stamm sangen ihre Gebete. Am zweiten Tag , öffnete er seine tiefbraunen Augen und sah mich an. In diesem Moment , meine Liebe , fühlte ich, dass ich den Höhepunkt meines Lebens erreicht hatte. Ich einen sterbenden Kind in meinen Armen gehalten hatte , und ich habe ihn gerettet hatte.
Und dann fiel mein Blick auf Sie , wie eine Vision von Schönheit , die mir den Atem weggenommen wurde , und mein Geist wurde taub für alle, aber das, was Sie sind. Ich habe diese Straße, die vielen Stufen unserer Fantasie gereist , und ich habe festgestellt, dass es Schönheit in beiden ein Leben zu retten und unter einem. Akachi wird nur eine kurze Zeit zu leben, für die Bühne seines Lebens bei der Geburt festgelegt . Wenn er nicht vor Hunger sterben, wird er sicherlich zugrunde gehen auf das Ende der Speer eines rivalisierenden Stammes Mitglieds. Und wer an ihn erinnern wird ? Wie die Tage vergehen , die Monate , die Jahre , die Jahrhunderte niemand Akachi erinnern.
Fürchte dich nicht, mein Liebling, denn obwohl die Erinnerungen verfolgen mich mal , ich habe nicht vergessen, wo ich hingehöre und was ich tun muss.
" In diesem Buch, das meiner Erinnerung ist ,
Auf der ersten Seite des Kapitels , das ist der Tag , als ich dich das erste Mal traf ,
Erscheinen die Worte : "Hier beginnt ein neues Leben. ' " Dante Alighieri
Get your copy now!
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Take a thrilling jaunt into some real criminal minds for less than $1.00
Two great books--$.99 through Friday 11/8/13 - Read Chapter One of Sole Intention and the Prologue of Eternal Beauty and see what other readers are saying.
Sole Intention by M. A. Comley
Review
I was immediately pulled into this story by the taut prose and elegant way in which the story unfolded. Ellen Brazil and Bryan Lynx run a missing persons investigation business which is an interesting hook - makes a change from the usual detectives and cops in this genre. I especially liked the evocation of place. I am a Brit living in America and the book made me homesick perhaps because it is so convincingly wrought. I am excited to discover this new author and am off to read some more of her books.
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat poured from her brow. Her clothes clung to her as she ran for her life through the ink-black forest. She’d already bumped into several tree trunks while looking over her shoulder for him.
Why me? Why is he so desperate to kill me?
She tripped over a half-hidden log and landed in a pile of autumn leaves, but she was up running again within a few seconds. Her life depended on it.
Stop thinking and just run!
She could hear him tracking her—the sound of crunching undergrowth getting ever nearer. She had no place to hide. Is that why he brought me here? Of course. The question was: would she ever leave this place alive?
Another stray branch slashed her cheek, distracting her. As she tumbled over a large fallen tree trunk, her heart almost shuddered to a stop. She tried to get up and continue running but winced as a sharp pain shot up her leg. She looked down at her ankle. It hung at an odd angle. “Fuck! Damn and fuck.”
The noise of leaves rustling just behind her made her turn her head sharply. She didn’t see the flat head of the shovel until it was inches from her face.
“Run from me would you, bitch?”
Stars danced through her terrified brain. She tumbled back into the damp undergrowth, but her attacker quickly yanked her upright again and placed her back against a wide tree. Everything was a daze, except the way he was glaring at her. She felt the rope slither around her torso, then groaned when it tightened, pushing the air out of her burning lungs. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, fear tearing at her vocal chords.
“You shouldn’t have run. Now I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do. Everyone has choices.” She tried to reason her way to survival. Right then she would have done just about anything to save her life. “Please, I have money, savings in the bank. Take it. Have it all… but please don’t hurt me.” Saltiness from her tears slipped into the corner of her mouth.
“I don’t want your money. I wanted you.”
“Then have me. We’ll go away together. You scared me. That’s why I ran. Please, give me another chance. I won’t mess up again. I swear.” Her words forced confusion to travel his face.
Is he debating setting me free? “We’ll be good together, once I get to know you properly. It takes me a little while to get used to people. Please give me that chance.”
The confusion gave way to anger. His eyes creased up until they formed tiny slits in his tanned face and his lip curled with intent. “If I set you free now, you’ll only run to the police and give me away.”
“I won’t. I promise. Give me a chance. Give us a chance,” she implored, desperation lacing her words.
“You had your chance. Nobody makes a fool out of me. Many women have tried before, seen me as some kind of joke, to their cost. I thought you were different, but when it comes down to it, you’re all the same. Full of your own self-importance. Preening yourself to attract us men. Then, when you’ve snared us, you cast us away like a used tampon.”
She had never thought of herself in that way and really wanted to challenge him. However, she was conscious that would only make matters worse. She turned her head to the side and mumbled an apology.
His hand shot out and clasped her throat. “What did you say?”
He had cut off her airway, so she couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. She could feel the air disappearing and felt light-headed as his grip tightened. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her family’s faces filled her oxygen-starved mind. Bye, Mum, Dad, and Cheryl. I’ll never be able to share good news with you all again. Please don’t grieve much for me. Go on with your lives. Never let the bitterness of what he’s about to do to me destroy your lives like he’s destroying mine. I love you all… until the end.
He let go of her throat, and she gulped air as if it were an endangered commodity.
He held her hand in his, touched it affectionately to his cheek, then looked her in the eye as he crushed her fingers between his. She’d never felt so much pain in her life, and she screamed until her voice dried up.
“Scream all you want, bitch. No one will hear your desperate cries out here.”
She sobbed and whispered through dry lips, “Get it over with. Kill me.”
“Oh, I will. Not yet, I intend to make you suffer first. This is just the beginning of what I have in store for you, bitch.”
He stood up and towered over her. Her gaze remained focused on the tree stump opposite. She could make out, formed in its bark, her mother’s beautiful smiling face, giving her the courage to be brave. When she looked around, she realised that he’d vanished, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the four-legged creatures of the forest. The sobs came and increased in tempo as she came to the conclusion that even though he hadn’t killed her, it wouldn’t be long before she died a horrible death out there. Alone.
Lost deep in thought, she neglected to hear his return. She jumped when he taunted her with his vile words.
“Say your prayers, bitch.” Something glinted in his hand, and her eyes opened wide before the object sank deep into her flesh. “Your life is about to end.”
She tried to scream, but her voice box proved to be raw and uncooperative. The third time he struck her, she drifted into a welcome unconsciousness. The blackness surrounding her quickly gave way to the brightest light she’d ever witnessed. She moved towards it and breathed a sigh of relief. I’ve arrived… He can no longer hurt me.
Eternal Beauty by Linda S. Prather
Review:
I read the first novel in the series of these characters Bet you can't... FIND ME (Catherine Mans' Suspense) and loved it; so when to my great joy, the second was immediately available I had to read it.
It has not disappointed me. You are drawn in by the storyline but also by your relationship of the characters. I can see this becoming a Tv series easily.
The Special FBI team is unique due to it being of psychics and intuitive people. Can they save the blond/blue eyed women that this brilliantly psychotic killer is after? Can they help a sweet innocent like woman from his plans for her. Will they escape this madman when he sets his sites on them?
Plot twists and didn't see that one coming is what will keep you glued from page one through the shocking reveals and leaves you wanting more books from this author and the main character 'Catherine Mans'.
I highly recommend this series.
PROLOGUE
“One more, sweetheart, and we’ll be finished.” He folded her hands across her chest, carefully arranging them to hide the missing fingers. “That’s perfect.”
The camera’s flash lit up the darkness for a moment, illuminating her pale features. He crouched beside her and gently brushed her blond hair away from her face. “You can rest now. Your memory is forever preserved.”
He placed the small digital camera in his pocket, stood, and reached for the tape recorder. A light breeze swept over the bow of the boat, and he closed his eyes. He’d stopped believing in God, but he still believed in Hell. And he was going to burn in Hell. Not because he’d killed her, but because he’d enjoyed it so much.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the recorder. He’d taped every scream. Recorded every moan. His purpose had been innocent enough in the beginning. He’d wanted a reminder of the sins he had committed. But then something had broken. Needs had awakened. Darkness had descended on his soul. He had become the very thing he abhorred. And worst of all, he liked it.
He pushed the play button and listened to her screams rise and fall. Desire swelled deep in his groin, intensifying each time a scream peaked. He licked his lips, yet he denied himself the pleasure of the sweet beauty of release. Later, he could watch the video, study the photos, and relive the excitement. Perhaps then he would allow himself the ecstasy of release, but only if it didn’t cheapen her memory. She didn’t deserve that. At the moment, reliving the feel of the scalpel in his hand and the rush of pleasure of severing the muscles one by one was enough.
His gaze fell on the hands still delicately folded across her bosom. He’d had to discipline her. But she’d learned quickly, and the missing fingers did nothing to diminish her perfection. And she’d been so perfectly exquisite. Her hair was a golden halo, her skin soft as silk, and her body… If goddesses existed, they must have cringed in envy every time she walked by. But her eyes set her apart from the others. Beautiful, gleaming sapphires. That was why he’d kept them. If the process worked, he would use them. If it didn’t, he knew where to find an identical pair.
He placed the recorder in his shirt pocket but left it running. His desire was gone, but something about her cries was soothing. They created a pleasant balm in the pre-dawn stillness.
He reached for the Ziploc bag housing the remnants of his first experiments and opened it. Although each had been beautiful in her own way, they had had no ceremony, no words of beauty spoken over them. He had simply weighted them down with rocks, and with a simple flip of a switch, the cargo hold had opened, expelling the cold, stiff bodies. They were not worthy of a starring role, but their lives had not been totally in vain, as they would have been had he not taken them. Although they held no place of honor on his board, he had immortalized them. They would be remembered. Holding the bag over the side of the boat, he whispered, “I cast your eyes to the ocean.”
He watched the white orbs flip and float on the waves. The screams on the tape tapered off into whimpers as the sun crested the horizon. He rolled the body to the edge of the boat and wound a rope around it. Then he secured the massive stone to the corpse and lowered the special-made railing.
“You, my darling, have the starring role in Act One.” With a smile, he pushed the bundle overboard. “I cast your soul to the sea. ‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.’” He’d memorized the verse for the occasion. Just for her.
She had changed everything, cleared the fog from his brain, and given him a reason to live. Such beauty must be preserved, protected from the ravages of time or disaster. He had honored her by taking her life. Saved her from a fate much worse than death. The human race was fickle. Once her beauty had faded, she would have been forgotten, tossed aside for the next beautiful face and body. Now, she would never be forgotten. She would always be remembered as the first Eternal Beauty.
Dawn was approaching, but he still had time. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sat and reached for his journal.
My Darling Dakota:
How I wish you were here beside me now to share my moment of triumph. The play has changed, my love, but fear not, for I shall make you proud. I have my first, and although her beauty mirrors your own, it will never surpass it. Act I is now complete, and soon, Act II will begin.
I shall honor your wish, my love. It has taken me five years to realize what you knew all along—true beauty is art. And art must be preserved and protected in its purest form to be remembered and appreciated.
My quest is now clear. No longer will I linger in the shadows, waiting, watching, praying for a sign. Instead, I will blaze a path around this world, seeking those worthy and preserving them for all time. Soon, everyone will know your name, and all the world will know your beauty. You, my darling, shall be revered as the most beautiful of them all, and you will always be remembered.
Standing, he lingered at the rail, watching where the long blond hair had sunk beneath the water. Taking the recorder from his pocket, he waited in anticipation. The screams grew quiet as the tape neared its end. The boat rocked slightly as his heartbeat quickened, his hands growing sweaty. The tension was nearly unbearable. The recorder paused for a moment of silence before her voice filled the night.
“Please… remember me.”
Sole Intention by M. A. Comley
Review
I was immediately pulled into this story by the taut prose and elegant way in which the story unfolded. Ellen Brazil and Bryan Lynx run a missing persons investigation business which is an interesting hook - makes a change from the usual detectives and cops in this genre. I especially liked the evocation of place. I am a Brit living in America and the book made me homesick perhaps because it is so convincingly wrought. I am excited to discover this new author and am off to read some more of her books.
CHAPTER ONE
Sweat poured from her brow. Her clothes clung to her as she ran for her life through the ink-black forest. She’d already bumped into several tree trunks while looking over her shoulder for him.
Why me? Why is he so desperate to kill me?
She tripped over a half-hidden log and landed in a pile of autumn leaves, but she was up running again within a few seconds. Her life depended on it.
Stop thinking and just run!
She could hear him tracking her—the sound of crunching undergrowth getting ever nearer. She had no place to hide. Is that why he brought me here? Of course. The question was: would she ever leave this place alive?
Another stray branch slashed her cheek, distracting her. As she tumbled over a large fallen tree trunk, her heart almost shuddered to a stop. She tried to get up and continue running but winced as a sharp pain shot up her leg. She looked down at her ankle. It hung at an odd angle. “Fuck! Damn and fuck.”
The noise of leaves rustling just behind her made her turn her head sharply. She didn’t see the flat head of the shovel until it was inches from her face.
“Run from me would you, bitch?”
Stars danced through her terrified brain. She tumbled back into the damp undergrowth, but her attacker quickly yanked her upright again and placed her back against a wide tree. Everything was a daze, except the way he was glaring at her. She felt the rope slither around her torso, then groaned when it tightened, pushing the air out of her burning lungs. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, fear tearing at her vocal chords.
“You shouldn’t have run. Now I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do. Everyone has choices.” She tried to reason her way to survival. Right then she would have done just about anything to save her life. “Please, I have money, savings in the bank. Take it. Have it all… but please don’t hurt me.” Saltiness from her tears slipped into the corner of her mouth.
“I don’t want your money. I wanted you.”
“Then have me. We’ll go away together. You scared me. That’s why I ran. Please, give me another chance. I won’t mess up again. I swear.” Her words forced confusion to travel his face.
Is he debating setting me free? “We’ll be good together, once I get to know you properly. It takes me a little while to get used to people. Please give me that chance.”
The confusion gave way to anger. His eyes creased up until they formed tiny slits in his tanned face and his lip curled with intent. “If I set you free now, you’ll only run to the police and give me away.”
“I won’t. I promise. Give me a chance. Give us a chance,” she implored, desperation lacing her words.
“You had your chance. Nobody makes a fool out of me. Many women have tried before, seen me as some kind of joke, to their cost. I thought you were different, but when it comes down to it, you’re all the same. Full of your own self-importance. Preening yourself to attract us men. Then, when you’ve snared us, you cast us away like a used tampon.”
She had never thought of herself in that way and really wanted to challenge him. However, she was conscious that would only make matters worse. She turned her head to the side and mumbled an apology.
His hand shot out and clasped her throat. “What did you say?”
He had cut off her airway, so she couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. She could feel the air disappearing and felt light-headed as his grip tightened. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her family’s faces filled her oxygen-starved mind. Bye, Mum, Dad, and Cheryl. I’ll never be able to share good news with you all again. Please don’t grieve much for me. Go on with your lives. Never let the bitterness of what he’s about to do to me destroy your lives like he’s destroying mine. I love you all… until the end.
He let go of her throat, and she gulped air as if it were an endangered commodity.
He held her hand in his, touched it affectionately to his cheek, then looked her in the eye as he crushed her fingers between his. She’d never felt so much pain in her life, and she screamed until her voice dried up.
“Scream all you want, bitch. No one will hear your desperate cries out here.”
She sobbed and whispered through dry lips, “Get it over with. Kill me.”
“Oh, I will. Not yet, I intend to make you suffer first. This is just the beginning of what I have in store for you, bitch.”
He stood up and towered over her. Her gaze remained focused on the tree stump opposite. She could make out, formed in its bark, her mother’s beautiful smiling face, giving her the courage to be brave. When she looked around, she realised that he’d vanished, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the four-legged creatures of the forest. The sobs came and increased in tempo as she came to the conclusion that even though he hadn’t killed her, it wouldn’t be long before she died a horrible death out there. Alone.
Lost deep in thought, she neglected to hear his return. She jumped when he taunted her with his vile words.
“Say your prayers, bitch.” Something glinted in his hand, and her eyes opened wide before the object sank deep into her flesh. “Your life is about to end.”
She tried to scream, but her voice box proved to be raw and uncooperative. The third time he struck her, she drifted into a welcome unconsciousness. The blackness surrounding her quickly gave way to the brightest light she’d ever witnessed. She moved towards it and breathed a sigh of relief. I’ve arrived… He can no longer hurt me.
Eternal Beauty by Linda S. Prather
Review:
I read the first novel in the series of these characters Bet you can't... FIND ME (Catherine Mans' Suspense) and loved it; so when to my great joy, the second was immediately available I had to read it.
It has not disappointed me. You are drawn in by the storyline but also by your relationship of the characters. I can see this becoming a Tv series easily.
The Special FBI team is unique due to it being of psychics and intuitive people. Can they save the blond/blue eyed women that this brilliantly psychotic killer is after? Can they help a sweet innocent like woman from his plans for her. Will they escape this madman when he sets his sites on them?
Plot twists and didn't see that one coming is what will keep you glued from page one through the shocking reveals and leaves you wanting more books from this author and the main character 'Catherine Mans'.
I highly recommend this series.
PROLOGUE
“One more, sweetheart, and we’ll be finished.” He folded her hands across her chest, carefully arranging them to hide the missing fingers. “That’s perfect.”
The camera’s flash lit up the darkness for a moment, illuminating her pale features. He crouched beside her and gently brushed her blond hair away from her face. “You can rest now. Your memory is forever preserved.”
He placed the small digital camera in his pocket, stood, and reached for the tape recorder. A light breeze swept over the bow of the boat, and he closed his eyes. He’d stopped believing in God, but he still believed in Hell. And he was going to burn in Hell. Not because he’d killed her, but because he’d enjoyed it so much.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the recorder. He’d taped every scream. Recorded every moan. His purpose had been innocent enough in the beginning. He’d wanted a reminder of the sins he had committed. But then something had broken. Needs had awakened. Darkness had descended on his soul. He had become the very thing he abhorred. And worst of all, he liked it.
He pushed the play button and listened to her screams rise and fall. Desire swelled deep in his groin, intensifying each time a scream peaked. He licked his lips, yet he denied himself the pleasure of the sweet beauty of release. Later, he could watch the video, study the photos, and relive the excitement. Perhaps then he would allow himself the ecstasy of release, but only if it didn’t cheapen her memory. She didn’t deserve that. At the moment, reliving the feel of the scalpel in his hand and the rush of pleasure of severing the muscles one by one was enough.
His gaze fell on the hands still delicately folded across her bosom. He’d had to discipline her. But she’d learned quickly, and the missing fingers did nothing to diminish her perfection. And she’d been so perfectly exquisite. Her hair was a golden halo, her skin soft as silk, and her body… If goddesses existed, they must have cringed in envy every time she walked by. But her eyes set her apart from the others. Beautiful, gleaming sapphires. That was why he’d kept them. If the process worked, he would use them. If it didn’t, he knew where to find an identical pair.
He placed the recorder in his shirt pocket but left it running. His desire was gone, but something about her cries was soothing. They created a pleasant balm in the pre-dawn stillness.
He reached for the Ziploc bag housing the remnants of his first experiments and opened it. Although each had been beautiful in her own way, they had had no ceremony, no words of beauty spoken over them. He had simply weighted them down with rocks, and with a simple flip of a switch, the cargo hold had opened, expelling the cold, stiff bodies. They were not worthy of a starring role, but their lives had not been totally in vain, as they would have been had he not taken them. Although they held no place of honor on his board, he had immortalized them. They would be remembered. Holding the bag over the side of the boat, he whispered, “I cast your eyes to the ocean.”
He watched the white orbs flip and float on the waves. The screams on the tape tapered off into whimpers as the sun crested the horizon. He rolled the body to the edge of the boat and wound a rope around it. Then he secured the massive stone to the corpse and lowered the special-made railing.
“You, my darling, have the starring role in Act One.” With a smile, he pushed the bundle overboard. “I cast your soul to the sea. ‘Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.’” He’d memorized the verse for the occasion. Just for her.
She had changed everything, cleared the fog from his brain, and given him a reason to live. Such beauty must be preserved, protected from the ravages of time or disaster. He had honored her by taking her life. Saved her from a fate much worse than death. The human race was fickle. Once her beauty had faded, she would have been forgotten, tossed aside for the next beautiful face and body. Now, she would never be forgotten. She would always be remembered as the first Eternal Beauty.
Dawn was approaching, but he still had time. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sat and reached for his journal.
My Darling Dakota:
How I wish you were here beside me now to share my moment of triumph. The play has changed, my love, but fear not, for I shall make you proud. I have my first, and although her beauty mirrors your own, it will never surpass it. Act I is now complete, and soon, Act II will begin.
I shall honor your wish, my love. It has taken me five years to realize what you knew all along—true beauty is art. And art must be preserved and protected in its purest form to be remembered and appreciated.
My quest is now clear. No longer will I linger in the shadows, waiting, watching, praying for a sign. Instead, I will blaze a path around this world, seeking those worthy and preserving them for all time. Soon, everyone will know your name, and all the world will know your beauty. You, my darling, shall be revered as the most beautiful of them all, and you will always be remembered.
Standing, he lingered at the rail, watching where the long blond hair had sunk beneath the water. Taking the recorder from his pocket, he waited in anticipation. The screams grew quiet as the tape neared its end. The boat rocked slightly as his heartbeat quickened, his hands growing sweaty. The tension was nearly unbearable. The recorder paused for a moment of silence before her voice filled the night.
“Please… remember me.”
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery
PROLOGUE
Corrine Larson bit her lip, stifling a scream as she turned slightly, struggling to open her eyes. She couldn’t remember if he’d beaten her for one hour or six, but she knew she was dying. Her body begging to shut down. She’d never heard the death rattle, but she recognized it now, deep inside her chest, with each shallow, painful breath.
Managing only a narrow slit with her left eye, she stared at him, conveying her hatred. He’d used her, and because of her, others would die. A small whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it. It wasn’t for her. She didn’t mind dying. Except for. . .
Corrine fought the thoughts threatening to overwhelm her, concentrating on the new pain caused by the salty tears coursing down her face. Her tortured mind honed in on her one satisfaction. That one ray of light in the darkness: She hadn’t told him everything.
Drawing in one last ragged breath, she closed her eye, allowing the feel of the cool damp concrete to soothe her burning body. It was almost over.
He whistled softly, a haunting rendition of I Saw the Light, as he loaded the gun.
Corrine turned her thoughts to Sarah and her child. He would kill them. Or worse. Another whimper escaped her lips. Why? Why hadn’t she just left it alone? Sarah had been safe. Her child had been safe. And now, because her reporter’s nose had sniffed a story they were all going to die.
Emotional pain washed over her in waves, drowning out the physical pain. Hurting even worse. There had to be something she could do. Some way to undo the damage she’d done.
She sifted through her memory, searching, rejecting and searching again. She’d written an article once about a psychic who believed your dying thoughts could travel across time and space, influencing the outcome of events to come. Maybe the psychic was right. Maybe if she tried hard enough she could reach across time and space. Warn Sarah.
Rough hands jerked at her hair, raising her from the bloody warehouse floor. She felt the cold steel pressed against the back of her head, heard the sound of the gun cocking. She’d always thought her dying thoughts would be of Rob or Gavin; instead, she honed on in the image of Sarah and her child. As the bullet shattered her brain, she held the image in her mind and silently screamed, He’s coming Sarah. He wants to destroy you.
# # #
Murder is a sin. You’ll go to hell.
“It wasn’t murder—it was self defense.”
He hated the voice in his head. She was always bitching at him. Always butting in. Preaching. A cruel smile twisted the handsome features. Today it didn’t matter. Today was a day of celebration. Soon he’d have what was rightfully his. All the years of waiting would be over. Whistling softly, he pulled away from the dumpster and parked the car. Just a few little things to finish. Pulling the police cap down low he entered the apartment building.
“Evening officer, can I help you?”
“Just delivering some luggage to Ms. Larson.”
The security guard checked the register. “Looks like Ms. Larson is out this evening.”
“Yeah, I know. She gave me a key and told me to set it inside the door. Working on some big story and needed to meet the mayor or somebody. Don’t know why the city wants to waste the taxpayers’ money and use me as her damn courier, but here I am.”
The guard grinned. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Shrugging in sympathy, he turned his attention to the crossword puzzle. “Go on up.”
He walked slowly, taking his time. The bitch had been tougher than he’d thought. She’d cost him a whole fucking day. He wouldn’t rush things now, though. Everything had to play out just right. All he had to do was make it look like she’d never left town.
What if she told someone?
The thought enraged him. He cursed softly as he slipped the key into the lock. That was the trouble with women—they talked too damn much.
And she wouldn’t scream, would she?
He clenched his fists. The bitch just wouldn’t scream. A deep ache started inside his groin. No screaming and no satisfaction. Too old. He liked them young, breasts just starting to bud. Like the one he’d glimpsed in the alley on his way in. Maybe she was still there. Maybe. . .
Unclenching his fists, he ignored the voice. It didn’t matter. He had what he wanted. Setting the luggage inside the door, he relocked it and pulled out the faded snapshot from his shirt pocket. He felt it then. Joy. Pure unadulterated joy. She would scream. Scream for every one of the six long years he’d wasted searching for her.
Laughing he placed the photo back inside his pocket. Time could be cruel, but not this time. He’d been given a bonus. Oh, yes, a definite bonus. Maybe he’d let Sarah live and just take the child. He liked that idea.
The throbbing in his groin increased, reminding him he had a mission to complete. Checking his gun, he screwed the silencer into place. The cameras had seen only what he wanted them to see, but the guard would have to be dealt with. He chuckled. Everyone knew about the corruption in the police ranks. The bitch had actually written an article on it. By the time they stopped chasing that lead, he’d be long gone.
The security guard glanced up as the elevator doors opened. “Everything okay, buddy?”
“Everything is just fine now,” he said, raising the gun. He chuckled again at the look of surprise that crossed the guard’s face, right before the bullet pierced his heart.
Murder is a sin.
“I told you, it’s not my fault. She’s the reason I have to kill.”
You like killing.
He whistled as he exited the building and glanced at the dumpster. He didn’t like killing. He was just cleaning up the trash.
Clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to open up any minute. He listened to the whimpers coming from the alley. She was still there. An omen. It really was his lucky day. He approached her slowly, his voice low and gentle. “Aren’t you a little young to be out this late at night?” The girl stopped her whimpering and looked at him. He saw the fear reflected in her deep blue eyes slowly dissipate as she looked at the uniform. She nodded. Smiling, he held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Excitement coursed through his body as she placed her small hand in his. This one would be a screamer. Whistling softly, he buckled her in and brushed the blonde curls away from her face. “Did you know tomorrow is Mother’s Day?”
OTHER BOOKS BY LINDA S. PRATHER
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
New Release - Foul Justice by M. A. Comley
Foul Justice by Mel Comley
Prologue
Trisha Dobbs cowered in
the corner. She wrapped her trembling arms around her two small children and
kept her gaze on the three men ransacking her immaculate home. “Don’t hurt us
anymore, please!”
The man snarled and
ordered, “Get the rope and tie them up.”
Trisha gasped, and he
turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. She quickly averted her eyes, not
wishing to annoy the man further. She’d already lashed out at him while trying
to protect her son and daughter when the three brutes had forced their way into
the house. He had a gash above his right eye where her flailing fist had
connected, and she had a gash across her cheek where he’d retaliated without
hesitation. She’d sensed, then, that she and her children were in for a rough
ride and that the man was used to getting his way with women, one way or
another.
“Mummy, I want to go
toilet,” little Rebecca said as tears welled in her bright blue eyes. Trisha
comforted the child and kissed her forehead reassuringly.
“Sssh, hon, try and hold
on. Go through your alphabet to take your mind off it, like I told you. A is
for apple, B is for—”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,”
the man snapped, his voice filled with venom.
“I… I’m sorry—” Trisha
stopped when the man rushed at her and ripped her daughter from her grasp.
“Mummy!”
“No! I’m sorry. Please
don’t hurt my baby.” Trisha sobbed and clung tightly to her two-year-old son,
Jacob.
The man picked up Rebecca
and roughly dropped her on the large white leather sofa opposite her mother.
Trisha soon saw the trickle of yellow liquid drip down the sofa onto the rug
below. Sensing danger, she placed a finger to her lips to warn her daughter to
keep quiet. Rebecca covered her mouth as her shoulders trembled, and tears cascaded
down her flushed cheeks. Too far from her mother’s reach, the four year old was
petrified.
The man in charge towered
over Trisha, his body blocking the light from the crystal chandelier overhead.
“What time will he be home?”
With the man intimidating her,
Trisha found it impossible to think properly. She glanced up at the lion
head–shaped gold wall clock hanging above the fireplace. “Dave should be home
at any minute,” she told him in a quivering voice.
The men had come at eight
o’clock, and it was now half past ten. Trisha’s husband always arrived home
around eleven on match days when he played at home. He generally declined going
for a drink with the rest of the team after work. He was the type who preferred
to keep out of the limelight, and he hated the notoriety connected with his
job. Given the option, he would choose to be home with his family, unlike most
of his teammates, who appeared to revel in fighting off the paparazzi at
London’s elite nightclubs.
One of the men tied her
arms behind her back before moving on to little Jacob. Her heart went out to
her baby, and wanting to protect him, she pleaded, “Stop! He’s only a child.
What harm can he do? Please don’t tie him up.”
Appearing uncertain, the
man looked over his shoulder at his boss, who glared and nodded for him to
continue.
Jacob cried out in pain as
the man roughly wrapped the rope around his fragile wrists.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Show
Mummy how brave you can be.” Trisha tried to reassure him, hoping to prolong
the charade that they were all playing a bizarre game.
Soon both children were
sobbing uncontrollably, and Trisha, numb with helplessness, felt as though
she’d been stabbed numerous times in the chest. My God, what can I do to get out of this?
“Go upstairs and start on
the bedroom. Tear it to pieces if you have to,” the man in charge ordered.
Trisha tried hard not to
give anything away with her facial expressions under the man’s intensive stare.
She felt confident the gang wouldn’t find the safe tucked under the floorboards
in the master bedroom, but considering the mess they’d made of her beautiful home
since their arrival, anything was possible.
The man in charge took a
step toward her. “If you don’t tell me where the jewellery is, I’m gonna start
hurting the kids.”
Knowing she couldn’t delay
the inevitable any longer, she sighed. “In the back bedroom.”
“Where?”
“In the wardrobe. On the
shelf, there’s a box.”
He leaned close and ran
his thumb from one side of his throat to the other. “If you’re tricking me…” Jacob was
sitting beside her, and the man yanked the boy’s head back. “He gets it, you hear me?”
“Yes, I understand. My
jewellery is in that room. I don’t have much. You think we’re rich, but we’re
not. This house is mortgaged to the hilt. All our furniture is on Hire Purchase.
Dave doesn’t make the kind of wages reported in the papers, I swear,” she told
him between sobs. Stay strong for the kids’ sakes.
“You think I’ve got
‘fucking idiot’ tattooed on my forehead, bitch? What do you take me for?”
“I’m sorry. It’s the
truth. You have to believe me.”
“Oh, do I now? You blondes
are all the same—thick as shit! You think you can wrap us men around your
fingers, don’t ya?”
Trisha remained silent.
The man went into the
hallway and shouted up the stairs, “The spare room at the back, in the
wardrobe, on the shelf. Let me know when you find something.”
Trisha squeezed her eyes
shut and tried to visualise what jewellery she had put in the specific box. Her
heart sank when she remembered she’d placed nothing spectacular there. All her
best jewellery, Christmas and birthday presents that Dave had bought her, were
safely tucked away under the floorboards. She hoped and prayed the children wouldn’t
give her away, for all their sakes.
“Something wrong?” The man
was in her face again, his eyes glinting with pure evil.
She wanted to be her usual
sarcastic self, but the present time wasn’t appropriate. “No. Just hoping Dave
returns home soon.”
“So am I,” he said, before
releasing a full belly laugh.
A few minutes later, the
other two men returned to the living room and handed the box to the man in
charge. He threw the glass of brandy he’d poured himself across the room and
marched towards her. “Is this it?”
She gulped. “Yes, I told you, we’re not
wealthy. I—”
“That’s bullshit, lady,
and we both fuckin’ know it. Where is it? This is your final chance or the kid
gets it.”
Words stuck in her throat
as the three intruders eyed her with contempt. Suddenly, the man in charge
reached out and yanked Jacob to his feet. The man pulled out a knife and placed
it against her terrified son’s neck. Trisha watched in horror as the blade sank
into her child’s skin, and droplets of blood trailed down onto his white
T-shirt, followed by his terrified tears.
“Please! I’ll tell you.
Don’t hurt my baby.”
“I’m waiting.”
“In the main bedroom—you
have to move the bed—there’s a small safe in the floorboards under the rug.”
He nodded for his men to
go back upstairs and check. Seconds later, he received a shout that they’d
located it, and seconds after that, little Jacob lay in a heap on the shag
carpet, his throat slit from ear to ear.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
If you love The Mentalist - Check out - Bet you can't... FIND ME
Author of the DI Lorne Simpkins Thrillers - Mel Comley says: "One of the best paranormal mysteries I've read." “Imagine a killer who can kill at will from a distance. No gun, no weapon. Nothing more than a thought."
Catherine Mans has the ability to see and hear what others can’t. With the help of Homicide Sergeant Cody Allen, she’s turned that talent into a successful profession as a psychic consultant.
But Catherine’s past is coming back to haunt her. Someone is threatening the lives of everyone she loves.
Nine bodies have been discovered, and Catherine is the FBI’s prime suspect.
To prove her innocence, she must unravel the secrets of her past, and answer the challenge of a deranged psychic.
Bet you can’t…FIND ME!
"If you love the psychic suspense of Kay Hooper and the witty characters of Tammy Hoag, you'll love Find Me!"
PROLOGUE
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me…
But He wasn’t with her.
She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. “Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?”
When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.
“Fiank-o!” she screamed.
Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood-soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.
Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. “Then take my eyes, so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears, so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains.”
Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?
“You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diablo, and she has cursed you.”
For a moment, rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. “You!” Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. “You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses.”
“Mwen pòv zanj pèdi—you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come.”
The old woman’s words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness.
“I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers. I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me.” She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation. “I begged them!” Her voice tapered to a whimper. “She is only five. I have lost Catherine. Must I lose Mary also?”
The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand, she pried open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. “You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross, and carry it.”
The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she’d come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.
She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman’s words echoing inside her head: You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Cyber Monday Ebook Special - The Jacody Ives Mysteries $.99
Cyber Monday Special - Both The Jacody Ives Mysteries available on Kindle for $.99 - a savings of $4.00
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
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.”
Saturday, October 15, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Amazon Kindle Ebook - "Evil had its own special feel...Excerpt From The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery
“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.
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.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Snakes, Alligators and Voodoo--More of Find Me a WIP
I've really enjoyed working on this book, and the research into things I had absolutely no clue about. Hope you enjoy the excerpt.
Catherine kept her hands inside the boat, but couldn't help being drawn into the beauty of the Bayou as the marsh sparkled in the later afternoon glow. An alligator scampered away from the bank as the canoe approached. Herons, egrets and seabirds flew up from the grasses. The Bayou was certainly wild, beautiful and deadly.
"How far do we have to go?" Catherine asked, noting the shadows were getting longer around them. She really didn't want to be in this water after dark.
Aureole spoke with her grandfather who shrugged and kept paddling. "Grandpa says patience is a virtue."
Catherine bit her lip to keep from cursing out loud. Grandpa hadn't really said anything. It was clear Aureole didn't like her. Yet at times there was something in her eyes. Something very sad. There were so many questions Catherine needed answered and Aureole was her only hope of getting those answers.
"Tell me about Voodoo, and how my mother got involved."
Aureole shifted in the boat, causing it to rock gently and Catherine to reach for the sides.
"There are several religions referred to as voodoo, or voudou. There's also hoodoo which is similar in some respects. Our religion is a combination of Roman Catholic, African animism and Christianity. We believe in one God who is all powerful. Many of our traditional ceremonies are presided over by Roman Catholic priests.
"In the old world we call God "Bondje", meaning "Good God". We reach him/her/it through the spirits. We worship God, and serve the spirits.
"There are twenty-one nations of spirits, called the "lwa-yo". The more important nations of Lwa are Rada, Nago and Kongo. The spirits sometimes come in families such as Ogou, Ezilli, Azaka or Gede.
"Rada sprits are familial and mostly come from Africa. Petwo spirits are native to Haiti and can be more demanding and require more attention to detail. Both can be dangerous if angry or upset, although they are not good or evil. They simply are.
"Everyone has spirits, and each person has a special relationship with one particular spirit who is said to "own their head", but we have many lwa, and the one that owns our head, the "met tet" may or may not be the most active spirit in our life."
Catherine listened to the recitation, which sounded like it came from a history book, but her mind honed in on the twenty-one nations. Each of the victims had been stabbed twenty-one times. Why?
"Do you want to know more, or are you bored yet?" Aureole turned giving her a condescending look, clearly expecting her to be bored.
"I think it's fascinating. Of course, I could have read everything you just said in a textbook. Do you find it that boring?"
Aureole rocked the boat again, this time almost capsizing it, and gaining her a rebuke from her grandfather.
"Sorry," Aureole mumbled, clearly not sorry at all. Unless she was sorry Catherine hadn't fallen out of the boat.
" You still haven't told me how my mother became involved in this."
"I can only tell you what my grandfather has told me. Mother Rose was a Catholic nun who served in Haiti for many years. There she met my grandfather, and from there we came to New Orleans. When I say "we" I mean of course the Duprè family. She brought us to the Blanchard plantation where my family worked for yours. When grandfather saw your mother she was surrounded by spirits, and he knew immediately that she was born to be a "manbo" or high priestess. He trained her for many years, although to hear him tell it she trained his as well. She was an amazing woman."
"You knew my mother?" Catherine asked, noting the emphasis Aureole had placed on was an amazing woman.
"I told you, we came over with Mother Rose. We lived with you."
"Catherine. . . . come play with me."
"Were we friends?" Catherine asked.
Aureole turned, leveling her with an angry gaze. "I thought we were."
Catherine remained quiet as darkness closed in around them. The Bayou came alive with strange noises, and ravenous bugs. Thank God she had on jeans and long sleeves, but she found herself constantly swatting giant mosquitoes from her neck and face. Surely they didn't have much further to go.
Almost as if Grandpa had read her mind the canoe slowed and they approached the bank. Taking off her shoes Aureole jumped into the murky waters and pulled the boat ashore, tying it off to a huge tree.
Catherine followed Grandpa's lead and walked to the front of the canoe, stepping gingerly onto the bank. Once again she thanked God she'd worn boots. Five hundred dollar boots that were now covered in Mississippi mud.
Grandpa disappeared into the trees and Aureole slipped her shoes back on mud covered feet. "We walk from here."
Catherine looked around her, hearing the sound of a huge splash behind her in the water. "It's almost dark, how are we supposed to see where we're going?"
Aureole tied her shoe laces, glancing at the alligator now about ten foot from shore. "Guess you'd better keep up then hadn't you? The Kayiman looks hungry."
Catherine kept her hands inside the boat, but couldn't help being drawn into the beauty of the Bayou as the marsh sparkled in the later afternoon glow. An alligator scampered away from the bank as the canoe approached. Herons, egrets and seabirds flew up from the grasses. The Bayou was certainly wild, beautiful and deadly.
"How far do we have to go?" Catherine asked, noting the shadows were getting longer around them. She really didn't want to be in this water after dark.
Aureole spoke with her grandfather who shrugged and kept paddling. "Grandpa says patience is a virtue."
Catherine bit her lip to keep from cursing out loud. Grandpa hadn't really said anything. It was clear Aureole didn't like her. Yet at times there was something in her eyes. Something very sad. There were so many questions Catherine needed answered and Aureole was her only hope of getting those answers.
"Tell me about Voodoo, and how my mother got involved."
Aureole shifted in the boat, causing it to rock gently and Catherine to reach for the sides.
"There are several religions referred to as voodoo, or voudou. There's also hoodoo which is similar in some respects. Our religion is a combination of Roman Catholic, African animism and Christianity. We believe in one God who is all powerful. Many of our traditional ceremonies are presided over by Roman Catholic priests.
"In the old world we call God "Bondje", meaning "Good God". We reach him/her/it through the spirits. We worship God, and serve the spirits.
"There are twenty-one nations of spirits, called the "lwa-yo". The more important nations of Lwa are Rada, Nago and Kongo. The spirits sometimes come in families such as Ogou, Ezilli, Azaka or Gede.
"Rada sprits are familial and mostly come from Africa. Petwo spirits are native to Haiti and can be more demanding and require more attention to detail. Both can be dangerous if angry or upset, although they are not good or evil. They simply are.
"Everyone has spirits, and each person has a special relationship with one particular spirit who is said to "own their head", but we have many lwa, and the one that owns our head, the "met tet" may or may not be the most active spirit in our life."
Catherine listened to the recitation, which sounded like it came from a history book, but her mind honed in on the twenty-one nations. Each of the victims had been stabbed twenty-one times. Why?
"Do you want to know more, or are you bored yet?" Aureole turned giving her a condescending look, clearly expecting her to be bored.
"I think it's fascinating. Of course, I could have read everything you just said in a textbook. Do you find it that boring?"
Aureole rocked the boat again, this time almost capsizing it, and gaining her a rebuke from her grandfather.
"Sorry," Aureole mumbled, clearly not sorry at all. Unless she was sorry Catherine hadn't fallen out of the boat.
" You still haven't told me how my mother became involved in this."
"I can only tell you what my grandfather has told me. Mother Rose was a Catholic nun who served in Haiti for many years. There she met my grandfather, and from there we came to New Orleans. When I say "we" I mean of course the Duprè family. She brought us to the Blanchard plantation where my family worked for yours. When grandfather saw your mother she was surrounded by spirits, and he knew immediately that she was born to be a "manbo" or high priestess. He trained her for many years, although to hear him tell it she trained his as well. She was an amazing woman."
"You knew my mother?" Catherine asked, noting the emphasis Aureole had placed on was an amazing woman.
"I told you, we came over with Mother Rose. We lived with you."
"Catherine. . . . come play with me."
"Were we friends?" Catherine asked.
Aureole turned, leveling her with an angry gaze. "I thought we were."
Catherine remained quiet as darkness closed in around them. The Bayou came alive with strange noises, and ravenous bugs. Thank God she had on jeans and long sleeves, but she found herself constantly swatting giant mosquitoes from her neck and face. Surely they didn't have much further to go.
Almost as if Grandpa had read her mind the canoe slowed and they approached the bank. Taking off her shoes Aureole jumped into the murky waters and pulled the boat ashore, tying it off to a huge tree.
Catherine followed Grandpa's lead and walked to the front of the canoe, stepping gingerly onto the bank. Once again she thanked God she'd worn boots. Five hundred dollar boots that were now covered in Mississippi mud.
Grandpa disappeared into the trees and Aureole slipped her shoes back on mud covered feet. "We walk from here."
Catherine looked around her, hearing the sound of a huge splash behind her in the water. "It's almost dark, how are we supposed to see where we're going?"
Aureole tied her shoe laces, glancing at the alligator now about ten foot from shore. "Guess you'd better keep up then hadn't you? The Kayiman looks hungry."
Friday, March 25, 2011
Sample Sunday Anticipation--Something New
I always look forward to Sample Sunday, but this week is even more exciting as a group of Indie Authors have decided to have a "Cook Off". We'll be posting excerpts of books, flash fiction and/or short stories and weaving therein our favorite foods and recipes. A writing challenge that I simply could not ignore. How could I? I mean three of my favorite things. Reading, writing and food.
I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do this Sunday as neither of my current books deal with food in any way that I found exciting, or even interesting. Could I actually do a murder mystery or serial killer plot involving food?
I love writing challenges because they do just that--challenge you to use your imagination. To step outside that secure little zone you've built for yourself and leap into something different. Here's a prelude to what's to come.
Food To Die Smiling For
Each year a prisoner on death row is allowed to choose a chef to prepare their last meals. This occurs over a three day period. Day one is breakfast. Day two is lunch. Day three is dinner, with dessert prior to the midnight countdown to death by injection. If the prisoner smiles after each meal, then the chef is assured that their career is forever safe. If a prisoner doesn't smile then their career is forever destroyed. Each year the whole world watches--sort of like watching Hell's Kitchen--to see if a prominent well-known chef will make it or go down in flames.
This year the notorious serial killer Ian McGregor will choose. But McGregor shocks the world when he chooses Carrie Thompson, a small restaurant owner that no one has ever heard of.
Carrie and her best friend, and business partner Sammie must come up with food to die smiling for. Are they up to the challenge? And what is McGregor really up to? Did he choose Carrie because he'd heard of her culinary mastery, or was he planning on having her for dessert?
Stop by Sunday and check out Part 1 of Food To Die Smiling For. We're having an Irish breakfast, with loads of fun, and some great recipes. Hope to see you there.
I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do this Sunday as neither of my current books deal with food in any way that I found exciting, or even interesting. Could I actually do a murder mystery or serial killer plot involving food?
I love writing challenges because they do just that--challenge you to use your imagination. To step outside that secure little zone you've built for yourself and leap into something different. Here's a prelude to what's to come.
Food To Die Smiling For
Each year a prisoner on death row is allowed to choose a chef to prepare their last meals. This occurs over a three day period. Day one is breakfast. Day two is lunch. Day three is dinner, with dessert prior to the midnight countdown to death by injection. If the prisoner smiles after each meal, then the chef is assured that their career is forever safe. If a prisoner doesn't smile then their career is forever destroyed. Each year the whole world watches--sort of like watching Hell's Kitchen--to see if a prominent well-known chef will make it or go down in flames.
This year the notorious serial killer Ian McGregor will choose. But McGregor shocks the world when he chooses Carrie Thompson, a small restaurant owner that no one has ever heard of.
Carrie and her best friend, and business partner Sammie must come up with food to die smiling for. Are they up to the challenge? And what is McGregor really up to? Did he choose Carrie because he'd heard of her culinary mastery, or was he planning on having her for dessert?
Stop by Sunday and check out Part 1 of Food To Die Smiling For. We're having an Irish breakfast, with loads of fun, and some great recipes. Hope to see you there.
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