Hello, and welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This week’s prompt is the word DEEPEN
I’m continuing with The White Dahlia, Book Four of The Harvester Files.
Al paced the living room, waiting for the call to connect. It was one p.m. here which made it nine a.m. in Alaska. Not an auspicious time for a call from the police.
“Hello?” The voice was sleepy. “Whoever you are you’d better have a damn good reason for waking me up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning.”
“Mr. Harrison, it’s Lieutenant Al Foster from the NYPD.”
“Lieutenant.” The voice was alert. “Have you got news about Rachel?”
Al pursed his lips. It hadn’t been pleasant doing this yesterday with Aunt Mae, and it was unlikely it would be easier this time.
“I have. I regret to inform you that we’ve found Ms. Livingston’s body,” he stated softly.
“Oh God.” The voice was hoarse. “I’d hoped she would be okay. I mean she could’ve had a breakdown and voluntarily disappeared. I kept trying to come up with scenarios where she was safe and happy … What happened to her?”
“The case is an open investigation, and I can’t go into details at this time. I would like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay. We want to get to the bottom of this as quickly as we can.”
“Of course. What would you like to know?”
Al could hear the tears in the man’s voice. Even after two years, finding out someone you loved had died was hard.
“Did you and Rachel come to New York together?”
“No. I met her at a charity dinner. I was working as a sous chef at a restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, and we were catering the event. Rachel was providing piano accompaniment for a number of performers. She played like an angel. When it was over, I got up the nerve to talk to her. She lived in SoHo at the time. We dated a year before finally getting a place together closer to the school and the restaurant where I worked.”
“I see. Did she ever go to karaoke bars?”
Ted chuckled. “Sure. Some of her classmates studying vocal music did, and she went along to encourage them. She had a great voice. How is that important?”
“We think whoever took her might’ve been following her. Did you go to the bars with her?”
The concern in his voice deepened. “Maybe once or twice. My voice isn’t what she called melodious, plus I tended to work evenings and nights.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Well, here we are in February, once more in lockdown because of the coronavirus also known as COVID 19. For more than a year, this virus has controlled our lives. but instead of things getting better, they’re just getting worse. The three new, more infectious variants have everyone on edge, and despite the discovery of several viable vaccines, some of us who desperately want one have very little chance of getting one for some time to come. I want to beg and scream at the universe for a solution, but I think it will be at least another year before we see any sign of normalcy.
As bad as I feel for myself, I think the ones suffering most are the children and teens. At the moment, my grandchildren are doing online schooling again and have been for the last month because of the lockdown. Think for a minute about your high school years, and then look at their reality: –no sports, no clubs, no school dances, no group dates to the movies or the mall, no opportunities to apply for a part-time job because all non-essential retail stores are closed, restaurants are take out, curb-side pickup, or delivery only … and courses like cooking, hairdressing, carpentry, science, physical education, and art no longer have any hands-on activities. Semesters have become quadmesters for high school, with two instead of four courses a day for6 weeks. They sit at the computer for five hours each day, watching a teacher lecture or demonstrate the material with very little student interaction, and answer questions or do assignments the same way. Brutal! If they are lucky, they may get outside for some fresh air and exercise as long as the stay socially distant, masked, and solitary. If they see their friends, it’s through Facetime, Messenger, or Zoom. Even church services have become You Tube dates on Sunday mornings. This is supposed to be a time of discovery, of forming positive social habits, of growing as a person, but sadly it isn’t happening.
There are a lot of things I miss right now. I miss traveling, having coffee with friends, going out to dinner, going shopping for clothes, furniture and other non-essentials, getting my hair cut and colored, my nails manicured, and pedicures for my feet. I miss getting together with my children and grandchildren, as well as friends, but most of all, I miss hugs.
This month’s blog question is about blogs.
February 3 question – Blogging is often more than just sharing stories. It’s often the start of special friendships and relationships. Have you made any friends through the blogosphere?
Blogging for me is a way of connecting with others that has become absolutely essential over the past year. Sometimes I use blog posts to generate interest in my writing, such as the small blogging group I belong to that posts a scene from a current work in progress each week. I’ve become very close to the other authors involved and even though we’ve never met, nor are we likely to because of the pandemic, I do consider them friends. I often blog to promote my work or the work of other authors who’ve become my friends. It’s a simple and inexpensive way to give someone a hand as they travel down the indie publishing road with me.
Sometimes, I blog to vent my frustration or express disappointment and occasionally I blog to share good news, especially in these days when good news is rare. Lastly, I blog because it gives me the sensation of sitting down and talking to people. It may be a one-sided conversation, but still, in its own way it fills the void COVID 19 has brought into my life.
So, how about you? What’s it like in your blogosphere?
Good day and welcome to February. Here’s hoping there’s enough vaccine around this month for all of us!
This week’s Tuesday Tales ‘ prompt is the word ANXIOUS. I believe we’re all a little anxious these days. I’m continuing with The White Dahlia, Book Four of The Harvester Files.
“I do, and I hope to hell I’m wrong, but too much fits. You had to see it when you found her—white, single, in her twenties—”
“But not a pristine body dressed in white, tenderly wrapped in a pink or blue blanket.” Beth swallowed the anger and fear simmering inside. “This girl was carved up and then tossed away naked as if she were nothing more than garbage.”
“Which is why I have to try. The MO is way different, and I need to be sure. Amos used that test to prove that the child with hemophilia wasn’t one of James Colchester’s. I have copies of the DNA samples collected in Alaska as well as the ones Amos collected from James’s children. I begged him for them, and he brought them to me himself last night. Beth, it was never made public, but the Chosen autopsied in Alaska as well as the Prophet and Adam Colchester all have O negative blood.”
Beth swallowed the bile rising within her. “What about James Colchester? Did he?”
“No, and neither does Jacob Andrews although they are both O positive. Amos is staying in New York to help with the test. He’s almost as anxious as I am. He made me promise not to say anything until the results are in, but that test takes days. We have to start looking now. I don’t know what I’m hoping to find out here—maybe nothing will come of it, maybe it’ll open a proverbial can of worms. One thing is certain, depending on when she gave birth, and with the level of folic acid in her system I think it had to be within the last few months, we may have a missing baby, too.”
Beth licked her lips. “I pray to God you’re wrong. Give my best to Amos and call as soon as you have anything else.” She rattled off her cellphone number.
“I will. There’s a chance I’m way off base on this,” Mitch offered.
“Yeah, but you could also be right on. Take care.”
Beth ended the call. Keeping what Mitch had said from Al would be difficult if not impossible, but there was someone who had to know sooner rather than later. If Mitch was right … She needed to talk to Chad Markell now.
Pulling up her contacts, she dialed his number. Unfortunately, voice mail answered.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Good day, and welcome to this week’s Tuesday tales, the blog post where a small but select group of authors share scene from their works in progress with you. Each week, we are given a word or picture prompt to use. This week, that word is MUD and we are limited to 400 words.
I continue with The White Dahlia, Book Four of the Harvester Files.
“Could you be more cryptic?” Beth’s voice was laced with sarcasm. She stood and paced as Al had done.
“I’m not trying to confound the issue, but so far the findings are as clear as mud. I need to be sure before I say anything. There was scopolamine in her system, dating back maybe two years,” she added, the weight of the word forcing Beth to sit.
“Are you saying he used the same method to get her to go with him that James Colchester did?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying, but it’s possible—and if he did that, then maybe he did the rest of it, too. We both know there are still people out there who know James’s M O better than BPD and the FBI did. Someone had to provide him with the drug. Chad promised they would keep looking for the missing Colchesters, but it’s been six years … The victim also had other drugs in her system, some I haven’t been able to identify yet and others that I recognize from those confiscated from White Iris Pharmaceuticals. Do you understand what that means? It means someone who worked on developing those drugs is still out there. They weren’t stolen from a warehouse or misplaced. I helped the DEA and the CDC inventory that place. Those drugs were destroyed. I watched the batches go into the incinerator myself. So how the hell did they get into her system?”
Beth swallowed, her blood turning cold.
“Are you sure? Is it possible some other drug company discovered them, too?”
“Believe what you want to. Drugs have unique signatures. I compared my findings to my old files. They match perfectly, and that doesn’t happen when drugs come from different companies. There were drugs in that place that most of us had never seen—drugs designed to keep someone in a coma far more potent than what we currently use, and I found some of those damn things in Rachel’s hair analysis. There were lots of vitamin supplements, including folic acid, and some coagulants as well as warfarin and other anticoagulants. It’s as if she was someone’s damn science experiment. Even Dr. Mengele, the Angel of Death, didn’t go this far. I’ve taken a slice of her brain to analyze for fetal microchimerism.”
“My God!” The words exploded from her as her stomach churned. “You think it’s them, don’t you?”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. We are on the edge of a polar vortex up here in Ontario, which will bring us seasonal temperatures and the first significant snowfall of 2021. Doesn’t make a lot of difference to me since we’re under Stay at Home orders. I can go out for one of three reasons: food, medicine, and to see my mother in a Long Term Care home since I am considered an essential caregiver, necessary for her mental well-being. Mom got the first part of the COVID 19 vaccine, and will get her second shot in February. So, that provides a ray of sunshine and optimism in my world.
This week’s post comes once more from The White Dahlia
Beth took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. More sirens rang out—fire, police, ambulance—Someone wasn’t having a great day.
Her pulse almost back to normal, she sat down and reached for her cooling coffee. She was jumping to conclusions. Al must’ve misunderstood. As she’d told him, lots of sex workers got pregnant and their pimp was rarely pleased with the fact. There was no proof this wasn’t the cockeyed story she’d fed him. While he used his cellphone to contact Rachel’s former boyfriend in Alaska, she soothed herself enough to put in what she hoped would be a coherent call to the City Morgue. It took three call transfers and what seemed like an eternity before Mitch came on the line.
“Mitch Smith. What can I do for you? Please don’t tell me you have another body for me.”
“Mitch, it’s Beth. No more bodies—at least not from me.”
“That’s good. I have enough on my hands with the one you did send me.”
“Maybe, maybe not. There’s something going on in Manhattan. I can hear sirens. Hopefully we’re just talking property damage.” She licked her lips. “Al just filled me in on your newest report concerning Rachel Livingston’s autopsy,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Are you certain? Are you positive that she’s given birth?”
“I am.” The doctor sighed. “I can imagine what’s going through your mind right now, because the same damn thing’s stuck inside my head, too. Thank God none of the women from the first Harvester case were cut up like this one.”
“No, but then, they weren’t being sold off for parts like these are. I keep telling myself to be objective. That this is an entirely different case, but damn it, I’m seeing too many similarities, and it’s scaring the daylights out of me. It was bad enough when I thought he’d just pillaged her organs, but a baby? Can you tell if it was a live birth? Have you got the results of the tox screen?”
“One thing at a time. Was it a live birth? I have no way of knowing, but it was a vaginal delivery, so the odds are it was. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I can’t say for sure that there’s a child out there, but if there is, we have to find it.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Unforgettable Revenge: Glory and Satisfaction is the latest box set released by the Author’s Billboard. The collection is chock full of Romantic Suspense stories to set your heart fluttering and your veins thrumming! Eight New York Times, USA Today, and International Bestselling Authors have joined forces to bring you fast-paced love stories so filled with passion and danger, you won’t want to put them down.
Today, we shine the spotlight on Special Agent Hunter by Mimi Barbour (NYT & USAT best-selling, award-winning author)
Blurb:
Detective Cora Taylor isn’t expecting the cop who’d haunted her dreams for ten years to return and find her drunk, wearing a torn wedding dress, and surrounded with tiny, white puppies. Go figure her rotten luck. The last time they’d met, she’d been a sweet-looking rookie too fearful to shoot a killer who ended up later murdering a family of four.
Guilt from that night changed her into a speed demon, a hardened detective with colorful language… in fact a whole new persona. One who wears too much makeup, bleaches her short messy hair, and has developed professional skills that earns everyone’s respect.
Agent Kal Hunter remains flummoxed by the altered vision of the pony-tailed rookie he remembers to the sexy woman he sees today. Being OCD about most things in his world, this unconventional female rings his bell constantly. Besides his need to have her assistance in stopping the ten-year-old, cold-case killer who’s again on a rampage, there’s something about her he can’t resist.
She’s her own boss, a cop who has no illusions. Yet when her shell is penetrated, there’s sweetness that rips a man to pieces.
He has only one worry.
When they meet up with the savage killer this time, will… can she take the shot?
Excerpt:
Kal had never before been greeted at an unlocked door by a fluffball of white exuberance. Upon entering Cora Taylor’s home, hit with the doggy smell he knew well enough from his own place, they stepped into the kitchen and could see why the odor had lingered.
A woman, her short blonde hair sticking out all over her head, tears messing with closed eyes completely covered in mascara and eyeliner running over her tear-dried cheeks, lay propped against the wall. A ruffled white wedding gown spilled around her body as she was spread-eagled on the floor, one ripped satin sleeve hanging loose.
An empty bottle of expensive rum was clutched in the right hand while one of the multiple pups snoozed in the left. Other fluffies were curled into her skirts, the ruffles hiding their bodies until they moved, stumbling forward on fat little legs to get their portion of attention. He counted five in all until the mother dog moved into her position of protection. Her lips growled a warning toward him as if she was worried he was planning to mess with her mistress.
Stunned, he stood back, having to use the counter for support. My Lord, he wanted so badly to pull out his phone and take a shot of the indescribable scene. The man with him began to chuckle under his breath before he turned to Kal. “It’s Cora’s weekend. I forgot.”
“Does she do this every weekend?” Stunned, he asked the question, hoping the answer would clear up his vision of a cop suffering a really bad problem.
“God, no. It’s only one weekend each year – you know, close to the same one as ten years ago when the first killing happened. She handles this time in her own way – gets drunk and lives through the three days as best she can. Only this year her best friend Sadie got married, so she has the wedding dress on.”
“Wait, if her friend Sadie was getting married, why does Cora have on the dress?”
“Because Sadie found out that her fiancé, Jon, got Briana, her partner at their hair salon, pregnant and ran away before the ceremony. Guess they changed clothes before she headed to the airport, leaving Cora to deal with the groom and the guests. Gotta say it was a humdinger watching Cora beat the bastard with the bouquet before she told the rest of us to enjoy the luncheon and then hightailed it outta there to come home and hide away for the rest of the time.”
Captain Swanson, Larry, finally leaned down to pick up one of the squalling pups. He petted the fussing mother dog so she wouldn’t fret. “It’s okay, Charli. I won’t hurt your babies.”
She’d backed down when it was Larry who’d moved in and not the stranger she seemed wary of. “This one is going to be our baby once she’s weaned.”
Just as Kal felt his head would explode, Cora opened her bleary eyes and stared at the two men. Words spoken in a rusty tone of indignant reprisal were not quite whispered, but close. “Get out of my house, or I’ll get my gun.”
“Now she’s going to shoot.” Kal’s muttered words made Larry grin, but he ignored him and bent down to the woman. “Honey, no one’s shooting anyone. We need your help, so get your shit together and clean yourself up.”
Cora moved her hand, and realizing she still held a puppy, she gently lowered it to rest on her skirt. Dropping the empty rum bottle, she raised her hands to her eyes, her clenched fists leaving more of a mess on her colorful cheeks.
Dried tears destroyed the kaleidoscope of blues and purples that had once graced her eyes. The streaks of black that had been mascara and eyeliner in another life made her look like a desperate rock star who’d gone wild with her makeup.
Seeing that the men weren’t going to budge, she tried to stand, only to fall over from the weight of the heavy crinoline skirt and the pups still using it as their mattress.
Larry reached down to scatter a couple of the pups, while Kal lifted the one nearest him only to get his face washed from the fluffy white handful. Sad for having to put it down, he lowered it close to where the food bowls had been filled but were now destroyed with pellets scattered everywhere.
Pointing toward the man who earned a scowl, Cora spoke in a strained voice. “Who’s the stranger you brought into my house?” Struggling to get to her feet, she fell back in a mound of tangled satin skirts, her bare legs showing among the mess of satin and crinoline. Before he could answer, she waved her hand. “Never mind. Just help me up, and then find me some Tylenol. I mean a bottle of the sons of bitches. I need a shower. And grab those fucking puppies before they get into the rest of the place and shit everywhere. Call Mona and tell her to get her ass over here. She was supposed to pick up the little bastards the day after the wedding.”
“It is the day after the wedding. She probably tried to get your attention, but you’d be too drunk to answer your phone, Rookie.”
“Bull. She knows where I keep the keys. You did.”
“The door was open when I got here.”
“See!”
Scratching his head, seeming to know better than to argue, Larry asked, his tone reasonable, “Did you hear anyone knocking?”
As if his words got through, she slammed her hand on the wall to stop from falling over and whirled around to face him. “Shit. Do I have to do everything around here? Whatever. Call her.”
“Say please, and I might.”
“How about I say go fuck yourself?”
Laughing as if he’d heard the biggest joke ever, Larry nodded. “Go get cleaned up, honeybunch. I brought an old friend of yours, but he wouldn’t recognize you today. Hell, I’m having trouble myself. Never thought I’d see you wearing a wedding dress, Rookie.”
Cora stopped struggling to walk, pulling at the skirts, and cussing under her breath. She turned and glared at Kal, then lowered her head as if she had no idea or gave a damn who he was.
If Kal hadn’t have been so close, he wouldn’t have seen her eyes widen or her cracked lips clutch her teeth as if to hold in a cry. Then she’d swung around so quickly, her skirts almost pulled her down before she struggled to get the crinoline and ruffles through the doorway into the other part of the house.
He managed to grab the same puppy who’d nestled in her hand and who suddenly began to follow the woman who’d given her warmth and been so gentle. The baby cried in frustration, struggling to shadow the one she’d chosen as hers.
Kal knew exactly how the wriggler felt…
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Well, here it is! The perfect way to spend a morning, an afternoon, or an evening.
A collection chock full of Romantic Suspense stories to set your heart fluttering and your veins thrumming! Eight New York Times, USA Today, and International Bestselling Authors have joined forces to bring you fast-paced love stories so filled with passion and danger, you won’t want to put it down. Discover mystery where you least expect it in this romance set brimming with heroes and heroines who are everything from cops and common folks to the supernatural as they battle despicable villains in intense situations, finding love despite unseen peril lurking in the shadows.
Featuring:
Mimi Barbour – Special Agent Hunter: The killer’s back, needling Agent Hunter to try his luck again. New York Times, USA Today Bestselling Author.
Rebecca York – Terror Mansion: He thinks she’s in danger. She thinks he’s scamming her. New York Times, USA Today Bestselling Author.
Angela Stevens – The Devil’s Own: Bowker Street:It’s not every day that a Priest finds a sexy devil in his confessional. International Bestselling Authors
Taylor Lee – Topaz: Ladies of the Night:A hideous incident in Topaz’s teenaged past gives her a dangerous connection to the international Cartel leader at the top of the DEA’s most wanted list. USA Today Bestselling Author.
Susanne Matthews – Fire Angel: The past and the present collide in the hunt for a serial killer. International Bestselling Author
Callie Bardot – Looks Like Trouble to Me (Uncut: Book 1 in the Bad Boys Need Love, Too Series): He’s trying to escape trouble. But she’s just the kind of trouble he needs. New York Times, USA Today Bestselling Author.
Jennifer St. Giles – Kaylee’s Justice:She knows what you did…you will be exposed. USA Today Bestselling Author.
Susan Jean Ricci – Turning Up the Heat: Mark and Malibu are happily headed towards matrimony… until an old adversary sabotages their plans with a devious scheme. USA Today Bestselling Author.
Here’s a taste from Fire Angel.
Everything happens for a reason.
Criminal profiler Jake McKenzie returned from Afghanistan minus a leg, determined never to let anyone get close enough to hurt him again. When his old friend asks him to help with a serial arsonist case, he jumps at the chance to prove his worth, but as the bodies pile up, he realizes he needs help. He convinces the chief to bring in a fire investigator, stunned to discover that the woman is none other than the girl who vanished from his life twenty years ago.
Alexis Michaels fled Paradise and an abusive uncle only to almost die in a fire that left her scarred not only on the outside, but on the inside, leaving her with psychic abilities. With that gift, she’s climbed to the top of her profession. Her abilities may be the only thing that can find and stop the Fire Angel, a pyromaniac turned revenge arsonist serial killer who’s slowly turning a peaceful town into Hell on Earth. The problem is, to do the job, she has to return to the one place where she swore she would never set foot again. Faced with confusing emotions and a killer who’s made it clear he wants her to stay out of his business, Alexis must deal with the past before she can move on. But things may get too hot even for her as the Fire Angel moves toward the final act in his revenge drama.
There was no doubt in Alexis’s mind that Jake was in a hurry to get home. His hands gripped the wheel, his eyes focused on the road, and his jaw was clenched so tightly he could probably break his own teeth.
What had she said or done that had disturbed him so badly? Was he upset because he hadn’t thought to have the bottles tested for the drug? Somehow, she sensed it was more than that. How she wished she could read people as well as she did fires and those who set them.
“When we get home, I’ll let you settle into the guest room while I talk to Minette. Then, tonight we can work on the list of suspects, pick out the most critical points, and work from those. We can factor an accomplice into the equation, too. I want to have something to give Everett before this bastard strikes again. Do you think you can take me through how you figured all that stuff out yesterday and today? Maybe explain how you come to the conclusions you do? It feels like we’ve been working together for months, not days, and I still don’t know how you operate. I know you’re used to working alone, so am I, but … If that full moon is part of this…” he shook his head. “Clouds and rain didn’t stop him from setting the house fire.”
Alexis licked her lips and nodded. Maybe she could give him a bit more to work with without coming off as a nut job as Bob had called her.
“I can try. Listen, I need to call Captain Peters and check in. I can do that while you handle the inn’s business, and we can talk about what I figured out and how I did it after supper.”
“That works for me.” Jake parked the SUV at the front of the inn and led her into the lobby.
A beautiful dark-haired woman stood behind the desk. She looked up and her face broke into a smile.
“Jake, you’re early,” she said, stepping around the desk and motioning to Leon, the man who’d served them breakfast, to take her place. “I was afraid Mia would miss you again. If you’ve got a minute, Jim Turner wants to talk to you. He says he has some of that information you wanted. He’s in the dining room.”
“I’ll do that right now. Can you get Alexis settled?” He turned to her. “I won’t be long,” he said, walking toward the dining room and leaving her alone with the inn’s manager.
The woman shook her head. “Leave it to Jake. He could’ve introduced us at least. Oh well.” She held out her hand. “Ms. Michaels, I’m Minette McKenzie.”
Alexis’s hand froze midway and she had to force it the rest of the way to the outstretched one. She leaned against the counter to steady herself. McKenzie? As in Jake McKenzie? She wasn’t just the manager, an employee, or girlfriend. No. She was his wife. Why hadn’t he said so? He’d said family, but she’d taken it to mean business family not the real deal.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, grateful her voice sounded normal.
Minette had long, dark, silky brown hair that hung in a braid almost to her waist. She had beautiful, large, doe-brown eyes, and a clear olive complexion devoid of any type of cosmetics. She appeared to be in her late twenties, younger than Alexis was, but it was sometimes hard to tell people’s ages. She was petite, with an hour-glass figure, and the jeans and peach cashmere sweater she wore emphasized her curves. She had a beautiful, friendly smile, and her welcome was genuine.
“I’ve unpacked your vehicle and put your car in our garage. Everything is in our spare room, including the emergency lamps. Jake mentioned you dislike the dark.” She opened the door to the apartment. “My daughter Mia’s home. Claimed she had a sick tummy, but after a rest, she seems fine. She’s watching television with Maya. She’ll be glad that Jake’s back. She missed seeing him yesterday.”
Mutely, Alexis followed her hostess into the apartment, placed her kit on the shelf as Jake had this morning, and hung up her coat.
“Come inside where it’s warm and dry. I’ve never liked this damp, miserable weather. We have similar weather in Quebec, and I hated it.”
“You’re from Quebec?” she asked, trying to be polite and not let the sudden jealousy she’d felt at the thought that Jake was married show.
“Yes. From Quebec City. Both Luke, Minette’s father, and I were born and raised there, although we didn’t meet until we served together in Afghanistan. He died four months before Mia was born.”
“I’m so sorry,” Alexis said, knowing those were the appropriate words. “Why didn’t you go back to Quebec?”
“I did. I was there with Luke’s mother until Mia was born, but when she was six-months old, David, Jake’s brother, begged me to come back for a few months. I’ve been in the Reserves for as long as I can remember, serving my country to the best of my ability. Losing Luke was hard, but I thought if I could finish what I’d started, I might be able to cope better with the loss. Mia stayed with Luke’s mother. It was what he would’ve wanted. He was a doctor, killed by a roadside bomb on his way back to camp after delivering twins and saving a woman’s life. I was a surgical nurse, and they desperately needed my skills. After I remarried and Jake was injured, I came back here to look after him, moved Mia and my mother-in-law in with us, and now I cook and manage the inn.”
“I’m sure he appreciates your help, especially since he’s working with the police. Is your mother-in-law here?” Did her voice sound as cold as she felt?
“No.” She grinned, her eyes filled with anticipation. “Both of them are in Florida, but they’ll all be back in Paradise for Christmas.”
She stepped into the apartment. A little dark-haired girl sat on the sofa, wrapped in a pink blanket. The gas fireplace was on and the room was nice and warm.
“Mia, this is Ms. Michaels,” Minette said coming up to stand behind Alexis. “She’ll be our guest for a while. She’s helping Jake and the police.”
Why hadn’t she referred to him as daddy? The child had never met her real father. Wouldn’t Jake want to take on that role?
The little girl smiled.
“Hi.” Her brown eyes, so similar to her mother’s, were filled with curiosity. “I’m Amelia, but you can call me Mia. Everyone does. I’m five. My daddy died in the war. He’s got a medal and everything. Do you have a daddy?”
“No,” she answered, too surprised by the child’s outgoing nature to do anything but answer in kind. “My dad died in a plane crash a long time ago.”
Minette walked from behind Alexis. “Mia, enough television for now. Why don’t you go get your coat and take Maya out on the deck while Ms. Michaels settles in? You can ask all your questions later.” She turned to her. “Believe me, she’ll talk your ear off if you let her.”
“Okay.” The child jumped off the couch and ran to get her coat and boots.
“If you’ll follow me, Ms. Michaels,” Minette said, turning down the hall that led to the bedrooms. “Will you be ready to eat in about an hour? I know it’s early, but Mia goes to bed by eight.”
“Call me Alexis. That’s fine. I didn’t sleep well last night and an early night sounds good. I’m sure Jake needs his bed, too. He was limping a lot today…”
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Welcome back to Tuesday Tales. This is picture prompt week. I continue with The White Dahlia, but since I’m working on the book more consistently, the story is moving ahead more quickly. To put this scene in context, Beth and Al are now working with the FBI on this case. They’ve confirmed that Al’s missing wife, Sylvia, was indeed one of the victims. Now, they’ve received another piece of critical information. Here’s the picture I chose.
Enjoy!
“The x-rays arrived from Kansas. The bone remodeling matches the injuries Rachel sustained six years ago, confirming the identification. Dr. Smith says they tapped her for bone marrow—there were a few small bone scars—and Rachel has given birth. She found a series of shotgun pellet-sized marks along the inside of the pelvic bone. They’re caused by tearing ligaments during childbirth and are a permanent record of the delivery. The doctor can’t tell me when she gave birth or even how many times, but she hopes to have more soon. It may have been to collect stem cells found in the placenta which would be worth a small fortune. God alone knows what may have happened to the child.”
Beth paled so completely that Al thought she would pass out.
“What’s wrong, Beth?”
She licked her lips, and he knew she was going to lie to him.
“I was just thinking he could sell the baby on the black market,” she whispered. “Before we realized that the child who’d been taken in Baltimore was actually one of the Harvester children, we suspected she might’ve been taken by a black market human trafficking organization.”
“Bullshit! There’s something else, something you aren’t telling me.”
She stood and walked over to the coffee machine, her hand trembling so much she could barely pour the hot liquid into her mug.
“Talk to me, Beth. What’s going on here?” He took the mug out of her quivering hands, undone by the tears brimming her eyes.
“This may be my worst nightmare,” she whispered. “I have to be certain we’re not making the evidence fit the theory rather than the other way around. If Rachel was drawn into the sex trade as you suspected, she wouldn’t be the first one to get pregnant.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Thank you for stopping by this morning to read my IWSG post. As Alex C. said, this past year was a tough one for all of us. For many, natural disasters ran hand in hand with political, economic, and medical ones. As I was getting ready to write this post, I was watching the movie, 2012. Remember that year 2012? According to the Mayans, it was the year the world was supposed to end. Fascinating idea. What if someone transposed the numbers, and it was really 2021? Just something else to worry about as we enter the second year of the pandemic!
January 6 question – Being a writer, when you’re reading someone else’s work, what stops you from finishing a book/throws you out of the story/frustrates you the most about other people’s books?
Even before I became a writer, there were a few things that would turn me off when I was reading someone else’s work. The greatest of these was a weak plot or one that fell apart midway through the story. Timelines were inconsistent, and there were a number of plot points left unresolved–not intentionally by the author, since we all do that when we’re working on a series, but just set aside and forgotten. If they are minor points, it’s irritating, but if they are significant enough to impact the story, it’s frustrating.
I like to equate such things to a scene in Vacation, when Chevy Chase ties the dog to the bumper of the car. No one pays any more attention to the animal until they stop again and all that’s left is the dog’s collar at the end of the leash. I realize it was meant to be funny, but to animal lovers it was even more horrifying than tying the dead aunt’s body in her rocking chair on the roof of the car.
Dangling plot elements left unresolved will actually stop me from reading another book by the same author.
The second thing that will turn me off very quickly is the overuse of sex in a novel. I get it. People like a little spice, but when there is so much spice that it obliterates the plot, well, that’s it for me. If sex is needed to move the story along, to show growth in a relationship, then by all means, but I far prefer to leave the actual act to my imagination. I don’t need a vivid description of her wahoo. There are very few books I haven’t managed to finish, but those that I haven’t all had this flaw. I suffered through a trilogy a few years back because everyone was raving about it. I didn’t find the plot until the third book. First time in my life that I’ve ever read three books in less than four hours, but easy to do when I was skipping pages of same old, same old.
A third thing that will affect my enjoyment of a book is poorly developed or one-dimensional characters, another flaw found in the trilogy. If I can’t identify with the hero or heroine, it’s impossible to get into a story–if i can find it..
Finally, in addition to writing, I am an editor, a natural evolution from thirty plus years as an English teacher. While spelling, grammar, and punctuation errors may be annoying, they don’t define a book if the plot is sound and the characters well developed. Let’s face it. A few typos always manage to survive even the most rigorous editing, and those few won’t make or break a book for me. What will ruin one is if it’s riddled with errors. poor sentence, unnecessary repetition, in addition to needless foul language and the overuse of slang. I get it. Sometimes those words are necessary to develop a specific character and flesh out a situation, but there shouldn’t be more foul language on a page than proper English.
Welcome to the first Tuesday Tales post of 2021. We are back in COVID 19 lockdown here, so thus far, 2021 isn’t much different from 2020. This week’s word prompt is CLOCK. I’m continuing with The White Dahlia.
“You aren’t clinically agoraphobic—if you were, you wouldn’t step outside—but you’re wary of crowds. A lot of people are and for a number of reasons. My mother avoids them, especially during flu season. As far as sleeping goes, you may never sleep well—even if you invest in the world’s best mattress—not after everything you’ve been through. Most people don’t see even 1 percent of the ugliness you have these last eight years. I can’t change what you’ve seen, what you may yet see. All I can do is make you face your humanity, make you understand that nothing that has happened is your fault. You have an incredible ability to soldier on through anything. It’s an admirable quality. I just want you to remember that you’re human, too. Being scared is the basis of our survival skill as a species. If we ignore our concerns, we’ll all end up in more trouble than any of us can handle. You’re allowed to rant and rave, scream and shout, cry and wail, and smile and laugh. Make friends, fall in love. What you aren’t allowed to do is bottle everything up inside the way you have for years. I’m giving you the all-clear to go back to work. If we have werewolves in Brooklyn, then the NYPD is going to need its best soldiers to track the beasts down.”
“It isn’t a werewolf,” Beth said, her voice low and troubled. “It’s far worse than that, maybe even worse than Boston.” The Brass wasn’t commenting yet on what they’d found. “I can’t be more specific. The Commissioner will brief the Press when he has something concrete to tell them.” She glanced at the clock. Her time was up. “Thanks, Maggie. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Letting me go back to work is what I need most. I have to stay busy. We both know it. And, if tracking down this latest monster is on my agenda, so be it.” “Sometimes the only way to deal with demons is to confront them. Like many in Trinidad, my grandmother claimed to have the sight. She maintained that in life, we were where we were meant to be. If you’re the one who is destined to do this, you will. But you need to get a life outside of work. Join a gym. I’m not saying you have to start shopping at Macy’s.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
Living the Dream 