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Lara Reznik‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Accolades:

Reviews:

The Girl From Long Guyland  currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 4 stars from 118 reviews. Read the reviews here.

An excerpt from The Girl From Long Guyland:

CHAPTER ONE

Lost in Texas

A couple dozen stars and the eye of a yellow moon pierce light through a sky filled with smoke. I look out the broken window to the ground below. Crumpled in the weeds is a lifeless body with red-flecked eyes, a bushy mustache, and sweet smile.

Vapor seeps into the room. I can barely breathe. Ben wraps his arms around me as I weep. Denise lies in a catatonic state perched on the bed. Why is she only wearing her bra and panties?

Chris stumbles inside the room. His eyes glow like diamonds. He cranes his head out the window. “We gotta do something, man.”

“I’ll call for an ambulance,” I say. Ben gulps, “That’s not a good idea.” “We have to,” I insist. “For Godsakes.”

He’s dead, Laila,” Chris says.

Tears sting my eyes.

WITH A JOLT, I awake whimpering. The nightmare has infested my dreams for years. It may be time to see a shrink.

The anxiety subsides when my husband Eduardo arrives with a cappuccino and the morning paper. “Are you okay? It sounded like you were crying.”

I clear my throat. “No, no, I’m fine. Just a dream, I guess.” I’ve never discussed these recurring nightmares with him. Eduardo’s got his own problems. He was recently laid off in a corporate downsize and refuses to talk about it. There’s lots of tension in our home right now. Maybe we should both see a shrink.

From our king-size Tempur-Pedic bed, I sip the coffee and stare at a cloudless sky and the sapphire water of Lake Travis. The serenity of the moment is interrupted by the sound of NPR news blaring from my alarm clock. Time to go to work. I shower and dress for a managers’ conference forty miles away.

AN HOUR LATER, I enter a pavilion filled with mounted animal heads and good old boys, and wonder how this counter- culture Long Island girl ended up in Texas. Yes, it’s Austin, home of tree huggers and music lovers, but I’m mystified by the path my life has taken.

The Hobbs brothers, proud owners of the Burnet County Landfill and Exotic Park where LBJ Electric holds its annual manager retreat, greet me with toothy Texas grins and matching Stetson hats. “How y’all doing today, darlin’? Welcome to our home.”

I flash a smile but it pains me to know these men are the proud hunters of the dead animals in the hall. It gives me pleasure imagining their heads mounted next to the trophies.

As I head to a long pine table and retrieve my white-sticky badge with the letters LAILA LEVIN printed in magic marker, Darlene McIntire, dressed business-gorgeous in a navy suit and cleavage-leaking blouse, approaches me and waves. Darlene is an upper-level manager who advocates for women in the company and played a key role in my promotion from Database Analyst to I.T. Solutions Manager two years ago. “Meet me in the little girls room at break, hon,” she whispers. “There’s something I want to share with you.”

During the morning, two hundred LBJ managers and I feign interest in long-winded corporate presentations. One of the executives reminds us that DIVERSITY is one of our company’s “Foundation Values.” Right. As one of only twelve women in the room, I try to look at the bright side: short lines to the ladies room.

A bald guy grabs the microphone and informs everyone it’s time for a break. Conversations revolve around Longhorns and Aggies, and of course, the beloved Cowboys. Go Tony Romo!

With nothing of substance to add to these discussions, I dash to the ladies room where I find Darlene at the mirror applying a fresh coat of mascara. She smiles at me. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.” My reflection reveals a contrast of wild curly hair with the Ralph Lauren suit and high-heeled boots I bought at Dillard’s yesterday. Like most in I.T., my preference is jeans and sneakers.

Three coats later, Darlene pops the mascara back in her purse and turns to face me. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.” “John is going to announce his retirement.” John Bell is the LBJ Chief Executive Officer. Rumors of his impending retirement have been rampant for weeks. “I’ve heard talk.”

“That’s not the secret. Bob E. is the heir apparent. Not to be announced today, but it’s pretty much a done deal. And he’s promised me V.P. of Corporate Services.”

I look away hoping she didn’t see my eyebrows jump to my hairline. “Congratulations.” Darlene is important, but not that important. This promotion is a big leap from Human Resources Manager. Certainly not done often in a company like LBJ. “Wow. Didn’t realize you had the seniority.”

Darlene blushes. “Succeeding in the boardroom is not the only way to get ahead.”

Oh my God. She’s sleeping with Bob Englewood, a.k.a. Bob E., the biggest flirt alive. Darlene has a great-looking husband and two kids. Makes no sense to me. But then I’m not that ambitious.

I’m trying to think of a good response when the buzzer goes off over the building’s loud speakers indicating the end of the break. I produce a weak smile and head back to the conference area with images of Darlene and Bob E. spinning in my head. Why did she share this with me?

I take a seat at my assigned table. John Bell, a short, stocky man sporting a bolo tie and a fine pair of ostrich boots, stands onstage tapping the microphone. “Good morning, LBJ managers. It’s good to be here at our annual meeting. I have
we haven’t spoken in ages. You sound so British.”

“I lived in London for a couple years, but I’m back in L.A.
now. You better sit down.” Katie B., always the drama queen. I sit in an antique rocker and stare at the pale blue Texas sky.

Katie clears her throat. “Denise committed suicide yesterday.”

I try to speak but my mouth feels like it’s full of marbles. Finally, I gasp, “My God.”

“She was never right after—” “Don’t say it. Remember the pact,” I whisper.

“I remember it.”

I suck in my breath. “It’s kept us safe.”

“We’re gonna have to talk about it. Denise left a suicide note,” she whispers.

Fear fills the membranes of my eyeballs. “Oh, Jesus.”

“I just got off the phone with Chris. A private detective
showed up at his house in Tucson.”

“I can’t believe that son of a bitch lives in Tucson. My sister has lived there for years.” It’s been four decades since I’ve seen or heard of Chris, yet his name causes goose bumps to parade up my arms.

“I’m surprised you’ve never run into him,” Katie says.

“Tucson’s a big place.” Would I even recognize him now?

“He googled me and found my phone number. He and Ben think we should go to the funeral.”

“Ben. You spoke to him, too?”

She laughs. “Yes, Jesus still lives.”

I blush at the sound of his name. “What is he like?” “I don’t know. Same old Ben, I guess.”

“Did they find . . .?”

She swallows. “No one knows what they’ve found or what she wrote in her note.”

To think just five minutes ago I was worried about my job, trophy animals, and Darlene and Bobby E. doing the deed.

Katie takes a deep breath. “We could all go to efing prison.”

The Girl From Long Guyland is available for purchase at:

 Amazon Kindle for $2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

Connect with Lara Reznik:

Author Website: www.larareznik.com

Author Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/lara.reznik.1

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Kellie Tayer’s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy:

Accolades:

Reviews:

The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 5 stars from 2 reviews. Read the reviews here.

An excerpt from The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy:

Prologue
Laura
If you had the chance to go back into your life and change one thing, would you do it, even if it meant that every single thing that came after would be changed as a result? What if I had ignored that boy who’d told me I’d dropped something on the ground when I knew I hadn’t? What if I’d picked up that gold disk and tossed it to the boy and then gone on my merry way? What if I’d given it away to a stranger? What if someone else had found the gold disk before I had? What if? They say life can turn on a dime, but my life turned on a gold disk about the size of a fifty-cent piece. I knew it wasn’t mine, but I chose to keep it anyway and in so doing, I set the course of my life. If I could go back in time and choose not to keep that gold disk, would I? Knowing everything that came after? Knowing I could escape all the pain, suffering, tears and heartache that came as a result of keeping that gold disk? Knowing I would never taste the sweetness of a prince’s kiss or feel the heat of a gypsy’s passion? Even though it seemed to bring me more heartache than not, without it, I never would have known how far I was willing to go—how much I was willing to sacrifice—for love. But I know what my choice would be. Yes, I would have to say—I would keep the disk every time.

The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy is available for purchase at:

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Kellie Tayer’s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy:

The Gypsy Thief is set in modern day Rhode Island and is the story of Laura Calder and her love for two boys: Andrew Easton, a descendant of King George the First, and Miguel Dos Santos, a mysterious gypsy who has royal ties of his own. More than 300 years previously, a dying Portuguese princess named Gabriela cast a gypsy curse on King George the First who issued a royal decree to counteract that curse. In the spring of 2012, the time has come for the decree to be fulfilled: Miguel Dos Santos must die by the hand of Tristan Easton, the eldest son of the Duke of Easton. But when a tragic accident befalls Tristan, it is up to his younger brother Andrew to carry out the decree, a situation complicated by the fact that Miguel once saved Andrew’s life. Andrew’s father, the Duke of Easton, aware of Miguel’s act of bravery, decides to let him live, but not without cost. He forces Laura into an impossible situation in order to save Miguel and her family. She must make a life-changing, heart-breaking decision, even as she tries to understand the messages from the mysterious disk she wears as a talisman around her neck, a talisman she must protect from the duke, as it is now her only tie to Miguel. Ultimately, The Gypsy Thief is a story of family honor and the lengths we will go to protect the ones we love, a story to be continued in its sequel, The Dark Prince, and concluded in The Shadow King.

 

Accolades:

Reviews:

The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 5 stars from 2 reviews. Read the reviews here.

An excerpt from The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy:

Prologue
Laura
If you had the chance to go back into your life and change one thing, would you do it, even if it meant that every single thing that came after would be changed as a result? What if I had ignored that boy who’d told me I’d dropped something on the ground when I knew I hadn’t? What if I’d picked up that gold disk and tossed it to the boy and then gone on my merry way? What if I’d given it away to a stranger? What if someone else had found the gold disk before I had? What if? They say life can turn on a dime, but my life turned on a gold disk about the size of a fifty-cent piece. I knew it wasn’t mine, but I chose to keep it anyway and in so doing, I set the course of my life. If I could go back in time and choose not to keep that gold disk, would I? Knowing everything that came after? Knowing I could escape all the pain, suffering, tears and heartache that came as a result of keeping that gold disk? Knowing I would never taste the sweetness of a prince’s kiss or feel the heat of a gypsy’s passion? Even though it seemed to bring me more heartache than not, without it, I never would have known how far I was willing to go—how much I was willing to sacrifice—for love. But I know what my choice would be. Yes, I would have to say—I would keep the disk every time.

The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $3.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

Connect with Kellie Tayer:

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Marian Tee‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of EVREN: Enter the Dragonette:

A rollicking tale of murder, romance, and bordellos…

Sixteen-year-old Deli Winters wakes up, dying. A voice asks her if she wants help, no matter the cost, and she agrees. The next thing she knows, a monster is bathing her in fire.

She has become Evren: immortals with dragons for souls.

Deli is pretty, bubbly, and stubbornly optimistic. She’s not what anyone would think the ideal girlfriend would be for someone like Lucian Chevalier, her gorgeous, aloof, and perpetually busy savior.

But Deli is in love with him and in between dodging the traps of Sanger High’s Queen Bee and working hard at becoming an ass-kicking Evren warrior chick to avenge her parents’ murders, Deli is determined to win Lucian’s heart…whether he likes it or not.

Accolades:

“ The storyline was cute and hilarious! ”
“ I can only hope that the author plans on taking this series further. ”
“ This was a nice easy read to enjoy on a rainy afternoon. ”

Amazon Reader Reviews:

EVREN: Enter the Dragonette currently has a Amazon reader review rating of 4.1 stars, with 33 reviews! Read the reviews here!

EVREN: Enter the Dragonette is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

Excerpt from EVREN: Enter the Dragonette:

Pain greeted me when I returned to consciousness. I didn’t need a mirror to know the truth…I was bruised and bleeding all over, and my ribs were broken. Every inch of my body screamed in agony, and I wished I’d had the chance to overdose myself with Vicodin. I’d have done anything just to make the pain go away. If that meant I’d die, it was a risk I was willing to take.

But someone didn’t want me taking that risk. A pair of hands gripped my shoulders and began shaking me. Hard. Each and every shake intensified the pain until I was drowning in it.

I tried to make sense of what I was going through, but my mind could only recall bits and pieces of the past.

The explosion that had turned our car into a midnight pyre of twisted metal…

That first horrible sight of a killer’s face—as if something inside me had been built to recognize evil, no matter what form it took—and the moment of choking realization that there was nothing I could do as he threw me on the ground, battering my body with head-splitting blows and rib-cracking kicks…

The sound of my sister’s screams as they dragged her away—

I forced my eyes open, a silent cry of protest emerging from my throat at the memories. This time, I welcomed the pain. It was better than reliving those moments. I couldn’t think about them. Not now, not just yet.

Everything was blurry but I could discern a face—a guy’s face—looking down at me. 911, I wanted to tell him. Don’t bother waking me up. Just call 911. And hurry, please, because I’m kinda dying here. But I couldn’t say any of those words because I was too busy trying to keep myself sane in the course of my suffering.

“Are you awake, human?”

Was I dreaming?

“She’s awake,” a second voice confirmed.

Silence and then the other voice again—the one that belonged to the guy still shaking me like a party popper. “Human. Are you awake?”

“I’m awake, alien.” Irritation gave me enough strength to snap at him. I didn’t like the way he called me human. It sounded very insulting. Was that his tactful way of saying I was so flat chested he couldn’t guess what my gender was? Or maybe he was delusional and he thought he was from outer space?

Idiot. I did my best to glare at him, deliberately focusing my every thought on staying mad at him. Anger pushed the past away.

The pain also helped, every bone in my body blazed in agony with the merest move I made.

Someone chuckled in the background. “She’s got you there.”

I would have smiled if I weren’t so busy finding a way to silence the echoes of my sister’s endless screams inside my mind. The shaking had thankfully stopped, but the pain hadn’t lessened. Not a bit. So this was how a human punching bag felt.

“Do you still want to live, human? Whatever it takes?” The question had a clinical tone to it.

Was he asking if I would accept some kind of surgery? “Yes, alien.” I badly wanted to roll my eyes. What kind of question was that? Of course, I wanted to be saved. Did I look in any way suicidal to him?

I squinted hard, but my gaze remained blurred by pain, and all I could concentrate on was his voice, cold and sharp, like a surgical needle.

“Then it is done. This was your choice. Remember.”

I didn’t bother wasting my effort answering. Idiot.

And then a roaring fire ate me alive and I screamed.

This time, I really screamed. But my screams abruptly died when I realized the golden fire enveloping my entire being didn’t hurt at all. I blinked several times, but the fire around me stayed, snarling and swirling across my skin but never causing me pain.
It burned away the film of pain that had obscured my gaze and through the dancing flames, I glimpsed the ragged outline of distant mountains, moonlight casting a glow on their peaks against the night’s dark landscape, the unmistakable scarecrow-like shadows of man-tall cactuses, and vast acres of desert land.

The fire slowly lifted me to my feet. What was this? Some painless version of hell? Maybe the Devil wanted me perfectly healthy before he started torturing me? But what had I done to have been sent to—

A vicious-looking creature loomed before me, and I screamed again, forgetting all thoughts about eternal damnation. The huge, unknown animal had a head about eight feet high—I had no problems imagining how easy it would be for Animal X to swallow me whole—and golden scales that glowed like sunlight, almost outshining the crescent moon behind its serpent-like shadow.
Its fierce forest green eyes arrested me on the spot. They were like magical emeralds, ones possessing an irresistible, almost hypnotic, charm. I could only stare back at the nightmarish being in horrified fascination. You know how tigers can be so dangerously beautiful, how their faces can mesmerize you even when you know they’re thinking about chewing you to death? That’s exactly how I felt about the powerful beast before me. This beast…or whatever it was called…looked something like Godzilla but less horrendous and more attractive. If it were domesticated, I wouldn’t have minded having a picture taken with the horrible fiend. Oh, God. I was definitely losing my mind if I thought monsters were the coolest thing next to Orlando Bloom.
“Are you scared, human?”

It was him. That voice…so he was an alien.

“Human, are you scared?”

“No.” And I wasn’t. Much.

“If you are, you will die.”

That particular threat should have made me think twice but it didn’t. If there was any truth to the memories in my mind, the memories that I was still unable to bury, then there wasn’t anything to live for, was there? Not if everyone I loved was already gone.

“I told you I’m not.” My voice was stronger now, containing more than a hint of annoyance. The fire made the pain inside me recede, allowing me to be more myself. I’ve never been a coward and I’ve never allowed anyone to intimidate me. That wasn’t going to change now, not even while I was still weak as a baby.

A part of me wondered how this was all happening, but the rest of me ignored that pertinent question. It was a bad habit of mine.

“Then I will try to heal you.”

The alien didn’t give me a chance to answer. The fire around me swirled faster, seeming to have a life of its own. The flames spun around me with such speed that I had to close my eyes.

The fire bathed my skin. I could feel the tips touching my body, filling me, merging with my blood. It was like taking a hot shower that could also clean the veins, the muscles, and the bones under my skin, cleansing and irrevocably changing me at the same time. My throat clogged as the blazing sensations urged me to just…let go. The inferno engulfing me played a seductive tune, and every beat tempted me to lose myself in the wordless, earthly music. The heat inside me intensified, the pressure building and building until I finally lost control of everything I was, of everything I was thinking or feeling. My whole being exploded, lightning streaks of heat splintering out each and every pore in my body. I closed my eyes, savoring every heavenly sensation.

“You are Evren now.”

The fire lovingly circled me one last time before it disappeared bit by bit, the cool night air slowly invading my skin. My body became heavy, and I felt myself falling and falling. But I didn’t crash. There was an invisible force of heat around me, making sure I landed on the ground gently and helping me lean back to rest. I opened my eyes and this time, everything was amazingly vivid, as if the whole world had been polished and varnished from top to bottom.

The beast was gone, and in its place stood a guy about my age. He was tall and lean, but there was a quiet strength in him, the kind not honed in a gym. He was dressed entirely in black and his skin was darkly tanned, like he had lived under the sun throughout his life. His cheeks were sharp and high, and his lips were almost too red. If he didn’t look so harsh, I would have said those lips were kissable. He was beautiful. Not gorgeous or cute, but beautiful.

With the almost-barren landscape of the desert behind him and the fading glow of the moonlight, he looked like an assassin straight out of the action movies Dad loved to watch. He also had the same pair of forest green eyes I had seen in the creature, and I stared at him in wonder. “Alien?”

Someone choked in the background, and I absently noticed another tall guy standing beside the one I was speaking to. I looked back at the green-eyed man. “Alien? Wh-what happened back there?”

His mouth tightened at the “Alien” bit but he didn’t answer. He crouched down instead, and with his vivid green eyes now at the same level with mine, I found myself even more entranced. Almost scarily so.

“How do you feel?” Green Eyes scanned me from head to toe. He still hadn’t told me his name and since he seemed to take offense with Alien, Green Eyes was the next best thing. Not that I’d call him that to his face.

“Does anything hurt?” His voice had the same doctor-like quality from earlier. Did he ever smile? And why did I even care?

Shouldn’t I be worrying about—I lurched up, or tried to, gasping when everything came back to me—all the ugly memories, every devastating second of them.

The memory of my sister’s screams deafened me, and now, I remembered the last time I had seen my parents, death granting them eternal masks of terror and helplessness.

“Mom. Dad. Davie.” I turned to look at him. “Where are they?” I didn’t mean to scream but the tightening of my stomach told me there were things I had forgotten and needed to recall. Another part of me wanted to deny the truth. Because even if the guy with me didn’t answer, that part of me already knew what he would say.

Regret touched his gaze as he spoke. “Your parents are dead.”

A pitiful cry pierced the stillness of the night, the sound rushing out of my throat. I began to sob. Tears never helped change things, but they had been my best friends throughout the years. They made me feel better, and I used them shamelessly for comfort, regardless of what anyone else thought.

I curled myself into a ball, ignoring the hardness of the ground and the rough edges of the boulder pillowing my head. All I could feel was the numbing grief of knowing that Mom and Dad were gone. They’d gone on a trip they could never come back from.

My eyes scanned the seemingly infinite sea of sun-baked land before me. Could their dead bodies still be out there? I closed my eyes briefly, unable to bear the thought that their bodies were lying out there, abandoned.

“Your parents’ remains have been taken away.” Green Eyes had followed my gaze. He must be a doctor. Or he is studying to be one.

How else could he be so perceptive of my thoughts?

“I am sorry for your loss.” His hand almost came close to touching mine before it was quickly withdrawn, as if he had suddenly found physical contact dangerous.

I coped with my parents’ deaths by burying the thought deep inside me. I couldn’t bear even contemplating how life would be without them. “My sister?”

“Alive.”

EVREN: Enter the Dragonette is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

A beloved San Francisco anchorwoman is found murdered in her palatial Nob Hill home, and detective Mac Fleet is assigned the biggest homicide case The City by the Bay has seen in years. The investigation leads to PEARLS OF ASIA, a stylish restaurant where the food and drinks are nearly as exotic as the waitresses. Mac crawls down a rabbit hole and comes face to face with the restaurant’s uniquely captivating servers–and discovers a lifestyle full of drama, humor and high heels. As the case heats up, so does Mac’s romantic interest in the primary murder suspect, whose exquisite beauty and fascinating personality compel him to cross the line between his personal impulses and professional responsibilities. Ultimately, the ruggedly handsome detective is moved to make a decision he never dreamed of.

What readers are saying:

From Kirkus Reviews:  ”…portrays with emotional depth and complexity.”

“…a fast-paced romp with plenty of plot twists.”

“An enjoyable, intelligent read that triumphs…”

The average Amazon reader review is currently 4.7 stars {23 reviews}.

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Judi Coltman‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of In The Name Of The Father:

Time doesn’t quell a killer’s instinct and there is no place to find solace. . .not even in His house.

Liz’s best friend rode off on the back of a motorcycle when she was 16 years old. Her body parts washed up on the shores of a Virginia beach community days later, prompting Liz’s parents to sequester her away to Richmond, far away from the vicious murder. Now on her own, Liz returns to take back that part of her life and make peace with the events of her 16th summer.

John Williams’ heart broke when, after being questioned in the grisly murder, Liz’s parents spirited her away for good, leaving him grieving for his forsaken love. With the guidance of his father, the community preacher, John moves on with a clear understanding of his life’s mission.

When another body turns up, savagely hacked-up on the side of the road, safety becomes elusive, even in the small community church where the answers are hidden. Liz and John have to face the truth that the killer is still out there. Watching. Waiting for them.

Accolades:

A classic mystery which was well plotted. Very creative, well constructed with vivid detail of location. Suspenseful…………satisfying with unexpected twists and turns. Truly enjoyed the read.

.. this is a great “whodunnit” book. I knew who did it about 1/3 of the way through. Then I knew who REALLY did it. And then I realized that was just a red herring and I knew who REALLY REALLY did it. But then maybe not…

I was hooked from the very beginning and was kept guessing until the end. Just the kind of mystery and romance that is my favorite kind of read. Could almost feel the breeze and taste those crab cakes! If intrigue is your thing, I recommend this book highly!

Amazon Reader Reviews:

In The Name Of The Father currently has a Amazon reader review rating of 4 stars, with 31 reviews! Read the reviews here!

In The Name Of The Father is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $3.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

Excerpt from In The Name Of The Father:

She sat at the end of the bar, engaged in a low conversation with the bartender.  The mid afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the darkened tavern creating a halo of cigarette smoke and light where she sat.  She sipped her drink, the condensation dripping from the glass onto her hand.  The rivulet of water slowly meandered down her thin wrist and dropped onto her thigh.  She didnʼt seem to notice the track of the droplet as it trailed over her thigh and between her legs. She shifted on the stool and slowly spun it around to face the room.  Her elbows propped on the bar, she crossed her legs.  Advertising?

“Why donʼt you get her a fresh drink,” he said and indicated toward the woman at the end of the bar with a tilt of his head.  The bartender took the money from the bar and filled her glass with cola.  Cola?  Thatʼs it? That bastard bartender had taken the fiver.  He glared at him for a moment, but decided to forget it.  He fixed his gaze on her now.  She lifted the drink and acknowledged him with her smile.  The come on.  He moved to the end of the bar, sat down on the stool right next to her.

“So what are you looking for?” She stared straight out, never making eye contact.  He looked around, uncertain she was even talking to him.  The place was empty.

He whispered, “50/50.  How much?”

“How much you got?”

“Twenty.”

She snickered and took a sip of her cola, “That wonʼt get you more than a blow job you gotta finish yourself,” she swung the stool back around and faced the bar again feigning interest in the television that hung from the wall.  He pulled a fifty from his pocket and slid it over next to her.  She sat quietly for a minute, staring at the television.  He waited, finishing his beer.

She quickly grabbed the money and placed a key on the bar.  “Colonial Apartments.  Number 3.  Seventeenth Street and Baltic.” She slipped off the stool and left out the back door.

He palmed the key in his left hand and swiped the coins on the bar into his right hand.  Eyeing the bartender who was not paying attention, he pushed open the front door and emerged on the sunny sidewalk.  Two blocks to 17th and another two to Baltic.  He was feeling horny as hell now and fantasized about giving this chick more than she ever dreamed about.  He wasnʼt her usual trick, he could assure that.  Sheʼd probably offer to return his money even.  He smirked and headed down 17th Street to Baltic.  The apartment building was an old white structure with seven apartments.  Each apartment had itʼs own door and a small front window.  They all looked exactly alike except for the number on the door.  He climbed the crumbing concrete step that was the front stoop and inserted the key in the door.

She came out of the bathroom, naked, and gestured to the bed.  “Take your pants off.”

This was not going the way he had imagined and he took a deep breath, “How about we do this my way, Sugar.” He guided her back into the bathroom, “Put your clothes back on.  For $50, I want more than mechanics.”

She stared up at him but closed the door and complied.  When she emerged, he was lying on the old mattress fully erect with his pants around his knees.  He smiled, “Comeer Sugar,” he patted the empty side of the bed indicating that was where he wanted her to sit.  She climbed on the bed and silently performed her services.

Spent from a trip into his mind, he lay on the dilapidated bed while she showered.  She had instructed him to leave the key on the bedside table when he left but he decided to stay and relive the whole thing.  She liked it.  A lot.  He was sure of that.  She was so much better than a place like this and he pictured himself rescuing her from this din.  He could give her things, make her happy.

The water from the shower abruptly shut off and he heard the scraping sound of the shower curtain as she pulled it back.  He zipped the pants and lay back on the bed.  She came out of the bathroom, her dark hair still dry but skin glistening from the water.  He smelled soap.  “There she is,” he said talking about her in the third person.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked, trying to hide the surprise in her voice with a hard tone of disgust.

“I was thinking, Sugar.  How about I take you out for a nice meal? Get yourself dressed, freshen your make-up and Iʼll wait here.” She thought about it for a moment, he didnʼt seem like a bad guy, not like the usual johns she serviced and she was hungry.

“Ok, give me a few minutes.”  He sat up, and tucked his shirt in.  Things were looking good.

They sat in a booth at one of the many pancake houses on the beach.  Not busy in mid- afternoon, they were most busy after the bars closed late at night.  The waitress sat at a back booth, smoking a cigarette and rolling silverware in a napkin while the couple ate.

“So, are you available tomorrow night?” he was thinking some dancing and dinner might be fun.

She eyed him in suspicion, “How many hours are you talking?” she asked, wondering what this dude was looking for.

He had it all set up in his head.  Theyʼd have a real date, maybe sex at the end, but the kind he didnʼt have to pay for.  She would see that he was just a guy who found her attractive.

“All night,” he insisted just realizing she thought he wanted to buy services, “a date!”

She laughed out loud, “Are you kidding? Waste a hot night on a date with someone Iʼve fucked?! No.”   She shook her head violently, placed her napkin on the table and started to get up to leave.

“No! Donʼt leave!” he insisted and grabbed her wrist.  Pulling with force he intoned, “Sit down.” She sat, unsure of the tone change.  “At least let me drive you home.” She pondered the offer.  She didnʼt allow johns to see where she really lived, “You can take me back to Baltic,” she agreed.  He smiled.  There, thatʼs more like it.

He flipped some cash on the table, enough to cover their meals and leave a tip and guided her outside.  His vehicle was parked in the public lot on 20th, and headed her in that direction.

He started the engine and waited for her to buckle her seatbelt.  He loved that part.  The slow, deliberate click indicating that the lock was engaged and secure.  He pulled out onto Atlantic Avenue, heading south to 17th Street.  He signaled a right turn at 17th St and headed due west, past Pacific Ave and Baltic.  She nudged his arm, “You missed my building.” He didnʼt say a word and when she started to fiddle with the seatbelt, it tightened across her lap.  She leaned forward and it pulled her back.  She frantically pushed at the seatbelt button to release the buckle and it would not move.  “Hey! I want to get out,” she demanded.  He smiled, “you will.”

“NOW” she yelled. Every movement tightened the belt and it was beginning to cut into her armpits.  “Listen!” she hissed, “You let me out of this car right now or I will call the cops!” He began whistling, a slow, haunting tune.

Driving down Birdneck Road, he headed toward the Great Dismal Swamp.  Indian River Road ran along the edge of the swamp buffeted by thick trees on both sides, there were plenty of pull offs along the way that he could pull into.  She grasped for the button to activate the window.

He laughed, “Doesnʼt work, Sugar,“ he said staring straight ahead.  She pulled the door latch, nothing.  She screamed.  Loud, long, curdling, piercing, desperate screams.  He turned the radio up, whistling his tune. Some long ago memory told her it was a song she knew but her fear was overwhelming.  She reached out to grab the steering wheel and throw him off the road.  He snatched her wrist, applying pressure with one hand, he bent her wrist forward.  With a minor exertion of pressure, her delicate bones snapped and her wrist dropped, dangling from her arm.  The screams and the tears from pain and fear began to have a choking effect and she coughed and sputtered as he drove.

“You need to relax Sugar or this will be a lot worse than you can imagine.  Have you ever been to church?” Her red eyes bulged from her head and she nodded as tears continued to drop from her eyes.  “You know, if you listened to your Sunday School teacher, you would know that whoring is a sin.  You do know that donʼt you?” His voice was steady and calm as if he were going to pray for her.  She nodded again.  “But, you didnʼt listen Sugar.  You thought that selling your God given gifts was a good way to earn money.  You like it too, donʼt you Sugar?”  Her fear dictated her movements and she nodded her head again as she continued to cry, anything to make him happy.  Turning into a well camouflaged pull off, the vehicle disappeared, as if swallowed up by the swamp.  Coming to a rest at the precipice of the swamp’s, mucky edges, he knew a few more inches could trigger a reaction that would suck the front tires under and backing out would be impossible.  He was well practiced.  The bitch was hyperventilating now.  He jammed his shoulder into her throat to subdue her further.  When he felt her body go limp.  He began to sing the tune he had whistled earlier, “Jesus loves you, this I know.  For the Bible tells me so,” he stopped and pulled away, “You Read the Bible Sugar?” he asked sounding genuine and concerned all of the sudden.  She shook her head no, gasping and coughing.

“Too bad.  The Word is insightful.  If you take the time to understand Godʼs word, you are free forever.  Sometimes, I have to help people find their freedom. Do you want to go free Sugar?” She vigorously nodded her head.  He smiled.  With the strength of his left hand, he slipped his fingers around her throat and slowly crushed her windpipe.  The air escaping from her mouth carried the sweet scent of pancakes and maple syrup.  She desperately tried to inhale, his pressure only getting tighter around her neck.  The throbbing in her broken wrist, the inability to breathe, slowly and excruciatingly, he squeezed whatever life was left in her out.  Her head slumped forward.  He checked for a pulse.  She was dead.  She was free.

He reached under the seat, feeling for the right handle, and pulled out his serrated hunting knife.

In The Name Of The Father is available for purchase at:

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Terri Giuliano Long‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of In Leah’s Wake:

***Newly edited by Sara-Jayne Slack, Inspired Quill Press***

‘Book Club Edition’ with author Q&A and discussion questions added.

The Tylers have a perfect life—beautiful home, established careers, two sweet and talented daughters. Their eldest daughter, Leah, an exceptional soccer player, is on track for a prestigious scholarship. Their youngest, Justine—more responsible than seems possible for her 12 years—just wants her sister’s approval. With Leah nearing the end of high school and Justine a seemingly “together” kid, the parents are set to enjoy a peaceful life…until everything goes wrong. Can this family survive in Leah’s wake?

Margot Livesey, award-winning author of Banishing Verona, calls In Leah’s Wake “a beautifully written and absorbing novel.”

When happens when love just isn’t enough?

Recipient of the CTRR Award for excellence

2011 Book Bundlz Book Pick

Book Bundlz 2011 Favorites, First Place

Accolades:

“Sometimes scary, sometimes sad, and always tender.” Susan Straight, National Book Award finalist, author Take One Candle Light A Room

“In Leah’s Wake is a beautifully written and absorbing novel.” Margot Livesey, Award-winning author of Banishing Verona

“Pulled me right along as I continued to make comparisons to my own life.” Jennifer Donovan, 5 Minutes for Books, Top 50 Book Blog

“An incredibly strong debut, this book is fantastic on many fronts.” Naomi Blackburn, Founder Sisterhood of the Traveling Book

“Easily the best read that I have enjoyed in 2011.” Bonnie Erina Wheeler, author Fate Fixed: An Erris Coven Novel

Reviews:

In Leah’s Wake currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 3.4 stars from 219 reviews. Read the reviews here.

In Leah’s Wake is available for purchase at:

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An excerpt from In Leah’s Wake:

In Leah’s Wake is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

Connect with Terri Giuliano Long:

Website: www.tglong.com

Blog: www.tglong.com/blog

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tglong

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/tglongwrites

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Melissa Foster‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of Chasing Amanda:

“Secrets make this tale outstanding.” Hagerstown Magazine

“Great mix of suspense, paranormal, and character.” –NYT Bestselling Author, Joni Rodgers

“…compelling, character-driven mystery with a paranormal edge.” –Honest Indie Book Reviews

“To say that this novel is sheer, literary brilliance is an understatement. This book will not let you down, nor will you be able to put it down.” -eNovel Reviews

“An emotional read that tests the strength of one’s own ability to deal with a parent’s worst nightmare.”

Reviews:

Chasing Amanda currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 3.5 stars from 270 reviews. Read the reviews here.

Chasing Amanda is available for purchase at:

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An excerpt from Chasing Amanda:

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Connect with Melissa Foster:

Website: http://www.melissafoster.com

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Barbara Taylor Sissel‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of The Volunteer:

In the fall of 1999, psychologist Sophia Beckman is compelled by the court to give testimony on behalf of a death row inmate that results in his sentence being overturned. Haunted by secrets from her past, she avoids the media spotlight as much as possible, but soon, other prisoners’ families come seeking her assistance. One family in particular, the wife, children, and brother of Jarrett Capshaw, is especially insistent. Forty-one days ago Jarrett’s request to die was granted by the State of Texas, and he became a dead man walking, a man they call a volunteer.

Jarrett’s crimes were unusual, involving the theft of precious Mayan antiquities. Murder was never part of the plan, but murder is what happened. He pulled the trigger, and as little as he feels prepared for it, as much as he struggles with matters of the soul, he’s ready to die. It is the only way his family and the families of his victims will be free to move on. While Jarrett labors to find the words to say good-bye to those he has loved, Sophia finds herself drawn into a relationship with his wife and oldest son. It is Jarrett’s family she can’t resist and there will be a price to pay. But not even Sophia could have foreseen the outcome when the brutal truth is exposed, the unalloyed facts that, incredibly, will deliver Jarrett’s fate straight into her hands.

The Volunteer is a story about families, how they are made, and how in one single, horrifying instant, they can be broken. It is a story about mothers and the lies they tell to protect their children, to keep them from being hurt. But what happens when the truth comes out anyway and nothing and no one is spared? Sometimes the truth has the power to break your heart, and in Sophia’s case it will also endanger her freedom and threaten everything she has ever believed about her life.

Accolades:

Amazon Reader Reviews:

The Volunteer currently has a Amazon reader review rating of 4.1 stars, with 48 reviews! Read the reviews here!

The Volunteer is available for purchase at:

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Excerpt from The Volunteer:

1
Tuesday, September 14, 1999 – 33 days remain

Sophia doesn’t register the sound when the truck pulls into her driveway. She doesn’t hear the sharp click of the truck’s door when the man makes his exit or the approaching scrape of his steps that slow and then stop at the foot of the stairs. She isn’t aware that he’s watching her. She’s on the small landing above him, outside her office. She came out when her mother called, when the conversation grew heated, needing fresh air, a remedy, knowing there isn’t any. Not in this situation. She holds the cordless receiver a little away from her ear in a vain attempt to soften the complaint in her mother’s voice.

“I won’t have it, Sophia,” her mother declares for at least the fifth time. “You had no right to take my car keys. I will not have you treating me like an incompetent teenager.”

“Believe me, Mother, I’m not too thrilled about it either.” Sophia could laugh, it is such an understatement. “But the State of Texas has left us no choice. They’ve taken your driver’s license.”

“They’re a bunch of fools! I told you that accident wasn’t my fault. The policeman who gave me the ticket was a smart aleck. He wouldn’t listen.”

“Oh, Mother.” Sophia isn’t sure who she’s sorrier for. The only way she and Esther have managed to stay civil to one another is by keeping their distance. Now they will have to be involved almost daily. Sophia is disturbed by the prospect; she resents that it is all on her shoulders now and she’s unhappy with herself, that she can’t summon a more generous spirit. Loosening her gaze, she lets it wander over the backyard toward the lake. She will walk down there, she thinks, when her mother is finished with her tirade. She will take a glass of iced tea and sit at the end of the rickety dock and listen to the water slide against the shore.

The man at the foot of the stairs shifts his feet. Above him Sophia registers the sound, but subliminally, the way you might divine a tiny foreshock, the one that in the moment seems random, but that is actually part of a larger pattern, an announcement of the greater explosion yet to come.

“Frances wants to make peach cobbler,” Esther’s voice needles Sophia’s ear, “but she can’t because we haven’t any peaches. And we need a new birdfeeder. The old one’s lost its perch. I could drive us to get these things, but no, you took the car keys all because of a little fender bender. Everyone has them, Sophia.”

“What is she saying, Sister?” Frances speaks in the background.

“Just make a list, Mother,” Sophia says. “I’ll shop on Satur–

“No.” Esther is adamant.

Sophia closes her eyes. She isn’t young herself anymore. How much of this can she do? Without losing her temper, her sanity? But now there is a discreet cough behind her and she turns and sees him, the man at the foot of the stairs.

“Someone’s here, Mother. I have to go.”

The man says her name: “Dr. Beckman? Sophia Beckman?”

She clicks off the cordless and in the moment before she answers, along with a dart of annoyance, she has an unreasoning urge to run. Perhaps it is something in the man’s voice that unsettles her. The impulse is gone before she can decide.

“I hope I didn’t scare you.” The man smiles.

She doesn’t.

“I’m Cort Capshaw,” he says.

Sophia sets the phone on the small bench beside her office door and looks beyond him to what she assumes is his white pickup truck parked in her driveway. When she looks back, his gaze seems intense. The line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders is very determined, but not in a way that makes her feel threatened, only more impatient. He’s selling something. He’s going to have some take-no-prisoners spiel. “Can I help you?” she asks. He’s younger than she is but older than her daughter, Sophia decides. Carolyn is twenty-six. He’s nearer forty. Medium height, solidly built, cropped sandy-hair. There’s a quality of stillness to his presence that she could admire, but she won’t. She’s not buying regardless.

“I’m a house painter.” He half turns to gesture across the street. “I’ve been working at Miz McKesson’s and before that I painted the Nelson’s house, around the corner?”

“I’m not interested in having my house painted,” she says, although she’s well aware that the house needs work. In fact, she and Russ had discussed getting bids last fall.

“Oh, I thought–that is Miz McKesson told me you might be putting the house on the market, that you mentioned it would need a bit of sprucing up beforehand.”

“I’m sure she meant to be helpful.” Sophia averts her glance. Nosy woman. It was true; she had told Lily McKesson that she was considering a move. Into something smaller. A rabbit burrow maybe or a tree hollow. Someplace small and obscure where life never fell into uncertainty.

“Painting isn’t just for looks, you know. Can you see there?” His gesture describes an area of siding over the backdoor. “The old paint is flaking. Plus, I noticed a lot of mildew and just an overall chalking.”

Sophia thanks the man for the information. She comes down the remainder of the steps. She’s thinking how warm it is for autumn, as if summer is reluctant to give up its tenancy. She’s thinking if she were rude, she would cut the painter short, tell him she has something more pressing to do.

“What if I come back later and talk to your husband?”

“He died a year ago,” Sophia announces and then wishes to bite off her tongue. What has gotten into her that she would blurt out to a complete stranger that she lives alone? Russ would be appalled.

Cort Capshaw apologizes and says he had no idea.

Sophia is murmuring the obligatory reassurance and thinking Nosy Lily must have failed to inform him of her loss when Lily’s Cadillac pulls to the curb. Speak of the devil. . . .

“You said you needed a painter,” she calls through the lowered car window.

“Yes, I suppose I did.” Sophia raises her voice.

“Cort does excellent work, all by hand. There wasn’t a speck of damage or a drop of paint to be found on a single one of my azaleas. You won’t find anyone better, Sophia.”

The painter hollers his thanks.

Lily waves and drives off.

Cort hands Sophia a business card.

Capshaw and Company it reads in addition to his name. House painting, custom remodeling and renovation. Quality service.

“If you like, you could call the historical society in town. I do a lot of preservation work for them. Actually it’s what I prefer, but circumstances being what they are, you know, with the economy. . . .”
Sophia angles her gaze toward the house.
“Why don’t I work up a bid and leave it with you along with a list of references? In case you change your mind,” he adds.

She hesitates, feeling herself frown even as she agrees. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” She isn’t sure what prompts her. His talk of hard times, perhaps, her inclination to be helpful.

She asks how long the job will take, “Assuming I accept your bid,” she cautions.

He paces the drive, eye to the roofline. “A couple of weeks, if the weather holds, which this time of year. . . .”

She nods. He could mean because it’s the tag-end of hurricane season, or perhaps he’s referring to the vagaries of south Texas weather in general.

A pause falls. One heartbeat’s worth of silence is followed by two and three. A hot wind scoots a swirl of sun-dried leaves along the driveway, scattering them over the grass where it verges on the concrete.

Sophia lifts her hand indicating the iron-railed steps she had, minutes ago, descended. “I have an office upstairs. People coming and going. Will they have access?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll use a ladder over here instead of scaffolding. It’ll take up less room.”

“I’m keeping a limited schedule of appointments at present.”

“That’s understandable, considering your recent loss.”

“I’m a psychologist.”

“I know,” he tells her. “I know who you are.”

Their glances clash. His look is searching as if he’s waiting for Sophia to recognize him. Should she?

“Two years ago,” the painter says, “I followed Jody Doaks’ trial; you were interviewed on TV. The story was big news.”

Sophia shifts her glance, thoroughly regretting now that she has encouraged him. What is it about appearing on television that causes perfect strangers to assume you welcome their attention? In the months since the trial she has been approached in the grocery store and the dentist’s office; people have followed her across parking lots, argued with her over the median at the gas pump. Once, a woman blocked Sophia’s exit from the ladies room at the mall threatening to hold her there until she agreed to recant the testimony she’d given on Jody’s behalf. The woman had ranted that Sophia was the devil incarnate. If only, Sophia had thought. She would have whipped out her pitchfork and prodded the woman in her ample behind.

“I’m against the death penalty, too,” the painter says, assuming, erroneously, that Sophia shares his opinion, when, in all honesty, she isn’t certain. “I don’t think it works as a deterrent to anything other than our humanity, do you? Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I think Doaks should ever get out.”

Sophia thinks of Jody. Poor demented, pathological Jody. Charming in the extreme. A baby-faced man who called his sister Momma because she’d raised him. A man who professed to love children, but who, in actuality, loved having sex with children. When the police searched the farm where Jody lived, they turned up the bodies of eight children buried John Wayne Gacy style in a crawl space under an old shed on the property. Jody had given Sophia this detail along with others that were more horrifying when he’d broken down during his third session with her in as many days. She is still uncertain how she managed to stay calm, handing him tissues to dry his copious tears, while he confessed he was doing things, hideous things to children, and he couldn’t stop. Sensing there was more, Sophia had prodded him very carefully and gotten him to confide in her about three-year-old Benny Chu, who at that very moment had been locked inside a room of Jody’s house. Jody hadn’t cleared the driveway before Sophia called the police.

The Volunteer is available for purchase at:

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