Peggy Jaeger's Blog, page 23
July 25, 2024
#fridayfive 7.26.24 The 5 reasons you should come to Romanticon 2024 this weekend!
I will be a signing author at this fabulous event in Connecticut on Saturday, July 27 ( that’s tomorrow, kids!) Romanticon 2024. Stop by my table, TABLE # 95 to say hi, grab some swag, buy a book!
Here are the 5 reasons I believe you should come to the event and participate in this HUGE author meet/greet/book-signing:
I will be there ( LOL)
2. Over 75 authors, narrators, vendors will be participating and will have books and items to sell and for display.
3. Some of the most popular narrators of romance fiction will be present. Come get your pic taken with them. You know their voices. Now, put a face to that voice!
4. The event is weather-independent – come rain or heat – you will be inside and comfortable.
5. Swag bags and author swag will be available, in addition to 5 amazing raffle boxes worth hundreds of dollars each in merchandise.
New Book release from Louise Stevens!!!
I have always hosted my friend Louise Stevens on any release day of a new book she has and I am tickled pink today is another of those release days! AN APPLE A SLAY releases TODAY!!!! It’s a SECOND ACTS COZY MYSTERY and a story that will keep you guessing until the end! It just arrived on my Kindle and I am ready to dive it! This cover is EVERYTHING!! I love it so much.
BLURB:
Autumn in tiny Maple Hills brings leaf-peepers, apples galore, and… murder? I’m Amanda Seldon, and I never imagined when I returned to my Connecticut hometown to pursue my dream of being an author that sleuthing would be my side hustle.
But I just found my second body in four months. My childhood crush turned current boyfriend is a prime suspect, and because the state police took over the case, even his police chief brother can’t help him. The victim was unpopular in town, and plenty of people had motives to knock him off, but the police are laser-focused on Dylan. If I don’t step up, I’m afraid the real murderer will get off scot-free.
Looks like Fluffy my attack shih tzu and I are on the case again. But now the killer is after us. Can we solve the crime before Dylan goes to jail for a murder he didn’t commit?
EXCERPT:
I opened the door to the outbuilding that housed the Maple Hills Orchard offices. Knowing Fluffy’s second favorite person in the world after me—fine, the only other person in the world she liked—was inside, she trotted ahead of me like a little big shot.
“Dylan! I have the best news––”
I stopped in my tracks when I saw he was in a meeting with someone. And not just any someone, a willowy blonde who resembled a Scandinavian supermodel dressed like a businesswoman for a photo shoot.
“Amanda, come in.” Gratitude flashed in Dylan’s hazel eyes. It was just for a second, and then he got his polite face back in place.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No problem, we were just wrapping up,” Dylan said.
“Dylan is being polite; we still have some business to conduct.” A brief pause before the word ‘business’ and the teasing tilt of her red lips was just enough to hint it was monkey business they were conducting. But I knew Dylan well enough to know this woman was no threat to me.
“Amanda, do you remember Mallory Davisson from high school? Mallory, this is Amanda Seldon.”
Memories of interactions with Mallory flooded my mind, and let me just say none of them were pleasant. She’d been the quintessential mean girl when we were kids, and she seemed to save a lot of her premium nastiness for my friends and me. At the time, I didn’t understand, but with an adult appreciation of the situation, I realized she was probably insecure and felt the need to go after the weakest members of the pack. Jeremy, Cara, and me.
Maybe I matured with age, but the sweeping look of condescension she gave my outfit was vintage Mallory. “Don’t you look, um, sweet.”
My clothes were perfect for working all afternoon in old apple barn with no central heating. I wore jeans with a pink, fuzzy alpaca sweater, and shearling boots. Not the height of fashion, but it was functional and I knew I looked cute. Although when I looked at her black pencil skirt and fitted white silk blouse, not to mention the mile-high pumps with their tell-tale red sole, a little flutter of unease in my belly made me wish I was dressed in some of my LA clothes.
I squared my shoulders and decided to be the better person. “And you look fantastic, Mallory.”
She leaned back in her chair, and I could see the white all around her ice-blue eyes. Huh. Seemed like the mean girl didn’t know how to react to kindness in response to her backhanded compliments. Good to know.
Her eyes narrowed. “I see you never managed to leave Maple Hills. I live in Manhattan now.”
Dylan took a breath to intervene, but I sent a glance his way to let him know I had this, and his shoulders relaxed.
“I lived in Brooklyn, when I worked in Manhattan. So much more cutting-edge, you know? But I’ve spent the last ten years in Los Angeles. I just recently moved back to Maple Hills.”
A sudden cough told me Dylan had just smothered a chuckle, and I flashed a smile his way. “And I’m very happy to be here.”
“Of course you are, bless your heart.”
Oh no she didn’t. Did Mallory just bless-your-heart me? It was on.
She continued before I could speak. “I believe your two friends still live here too. What did everyone call you? The Three Stooges?”
I didn’t enjoy conflict, and my heart thudded in my chest, but I pasted on a smile. “Oh no, it’s the Three Musketeers, but I understand the literary allusion is above some people’s heads.”
Mallory sat up straight, and the movement diverted Fluffy’s attention from her beloved Dylan, at whose feet she sat. My fierce little defender sensed a threat and growled in a manner worthy of a rottweiler and then charged at Mallory, barking wildly. Her tail was down, a sure sign she was seriously displeased.
Mallory curled up in her seat, as best she could in her tight skirt. “Call off your mutt.”
“Fluffy, it’s okay, sweetie. She can’t hurt me,” I crooned to Fluffy, but still held on tight to her leash. Sometimes there was no soothing her when she got in a state.
Dylan squatted, held out his hand, palm side up, and spoke in a calm, quiet voice, “Come here, Fluffy.”
It was enough to divert her, and the barking stopped as she glanced over her shoulder to Dylan. Her tail was still down though, so it could go either way.
“Good girl. Come here.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and smiled at Fluffy.
Her tail slowly lifted over her back, and with one last look of disdain at Mallory, she turned and pranced to Dylan, who scooped her up in his arms. His glance at Mallory was cold. “Fluffy is not a mutt. Not that there’s anything wrong with mutts.”
Since I still held her leash, when Dylan picked her up, I had to move closer to his side.
“It’s almost time for my shift at the orchard store, and while I’d love to stay and catch up with Mallory…” I paused briefly here, waiting for lightning to strike me. “I was wondering if I could get the key to your house, so I can leave Fluffy there while I work.”
“Sure, but why can’t she stay at home?” He handed the dog to me, and dug in his pockets for his key chain.
“Mom is vacuuming, and it whips Fluffy into a frenzy.”
A slow smile oozed across Mallory’s face like an oil slick. “You live at home with your parents? How precious.”
I ignored her and turned my gaze to Dylan. “Which brings me to my good news. I just made an offer on a lakeside condo. Fingers crossed!”
His smile warmed me down to my toes. If only he could smile at me that way the whole time I was working in the chilly barn, I wouldn’t need to wear these boots.
“Great news. You can tell me all about it at dinner tonight.” Dylan leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips.
Mallory cleared her throat in a pointed manner, and he reluctantly pulled away from me. “I just need to see Mallory off, and then I’ll check on Fluffy before I come over to the apple barn to see you.”
“See me off? We’re not done with our meeting.” Mallory frowned.
“Oh, yes we are,” Dylan said in a firm tone, which left no room for discussion.
I snatched the key and dashed for the door, still holding Fluffy in my arms. She took the opportunity to growl one more time at Mallory, who flinched.
The woman had tormented me from the time we started school until high school graduation, and I wish I could be a better person, but the way our reunion had gone today, my only thought was karma was sweet.
Buy Links:
Amazon:
Barnes & Noble:
Apple Books:
Kobo:
Smashwords:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Louise Stevens is the author of the Port Sunset Mysteries, and the Second Act Cozy Mystery series. A lover of mysteries since her discovery of Nancy Drew many years ago, she is thrilled to be writing cozy mysteries now. She lives in Maryland with her husband, who also loves a good mystery, in a house packed with books.
Louise Stevens is the pen name of contemporary romance author Donna Simonetta.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100071660405154
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Louise-Stevens/author/B09HHR74VQ
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21848293.Louise_Stevens
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15422407.Donna_Simonetta
BookBub:
https://www.bookbub.com/profile/louise-stevens
BookBub:
July 24, 2024
#throwbacktursday 7.25.24
Not too distant in the past, but still relevant…
On Amazon sales, Returned books, and negative royalties.
It’s been a while since I posted a rant piece, LOL. I’ll try to stay calm while I write this but for the record: I’m seriously pissed.
Okay, a little back story to set the scene.
I had a book sale this month – I put my Matchmaker novel MIX AND MATCH
on sale for 99 cents for 2 weeks. The regular price is $2.99. Didn’t sell a million copies, hee hee, but didn’t do too bad for little unknown me. So, what you need to know is that when you put a book on sale on Amazon for 99 cents, that means your profit or royalty for the sale is 35 cents. You can imagine that I am not getting rich writing and doing this, folks, because I am not. In order to make ANY money I’d need to sell millions of copies at 35 cents.
Not happening.
Now. The book was 99 cents, which in all reality is a ridiculous price for the months of work, blood, sweat, and many sleepless nights that went into writing it. But the fact is readers won’t spend a lot of money on writers they don’t know, so offering a sale price like this is a way to garner new readers.
Back to money. So, 35 cents a copy is all I make on the sale. Here’s the rant part. I had people RETURN the book after reading it. RETURN IT! A 99 cent book!
#WTF
And to add insult to injury on this one, Amazon charges me 41 cents on the return, so I not only lost the 35 cents royalty, I also had to pay Amazon for the pleasure of having one of my books returned.
I can’t decide who I’m madder at: Amazon for the extra charge or the reader who thought reading a book and returning it was a good idea. I’m not the lending library, folks. Neither are the other writers this happens to all the time.
Now I can see if you clicked on the buy option by mistake. We’ve all done that. But this isn’t the case here. There are literally hordes of readers who buy a book, read it, and then return it for no other reason than they want to.
Understand why I’m pissed now?
I had a good friend ask me on Facebook this morning if I thought people ordered it and realized they didn’t want it and then returned it, or if they didn’t realize when their kindle asked them after they finished the book if the choice REMOVE THE DOWNLOAD meant they were, in fact, returning the book and not just moving it out of their digital library. Or, her third option was, are they just evil.
I’m hoping it’s option number two. They don’t realize clicking REMOVE THE DOWNLOAD returns the book to amazon. I’m trying to hope human nature isn’t all that greedy that 99 cents needs to be put back in their coffers.
I’m not hopeful, though, that’s true. I kinda think option 3 is the more truthful one.
Le sigh….. don’t think you’ll get rich if you become a writer, kids. Winning Powerball is easier.
A little clarification: if when you click on the end of your kIndle book it says DELETE PERMANENTLY FROM YOUR device, that is the return. If I just says Remove from your library, that’s not.
July 23, 2024
July 22, 2024
#tuesdaytease 7.23.24
So I don’t give teasers on things I’m still working on for a first draft, but today, I feel like being different.
LOL.
On the docket for a 2025 release ( don’t ask me why because i don’t know the date!) is another FBI book. This one’s not about Kella and the SPCD team, but a totally different story and team. The title is CHILDREN OF THE PROPHET. I have the cover, so ta-da…
Once upon a time I was obsessed with WACO, JONESTOWN, MANSON, et al, and read everything I could about cults. When the 25th anniversary of WACO happened a few years, I started to get an idea. What happened to the kids? What happened to the children who were taken before the tragic fire? Where were they today and how were they faring?
An idea sparked: write about them. But make it a suspense about how the past never really dies. So, COTP was imagined.
Here’s a little of the opening…. and remember- this is raw and unedited, so don’t come at me for spelling/typos/tense issues.
Not yet, anyway (LOL)
Chapter 1
Tuesday night, June 28, 6 p.m.
“Have a good night, Dr. Engersol.”
Blythe smiled at her nurse. “You too, Penny. And thanks for all your help today. I couldn’t have gotten through it without you.”
“It was a busy one, that’s for sure.”
Since she was a firm believer in speaking stuff into the universe you wanted to happen, Blythe said, “Here’s hoping tomorrow is a little easier.”
“Your lips to God’s ears.”
Blythe hadn’t believed in a God for a while, so she simply bobbed her head once as she slid her car keys out of her purse.
The parking lot was empty save for her old and reliable Subaru and Penny’s new SUV.
Settled behind the wheel, Blythe sighed, long and deep. Exhaustion oozed from every cell in her body. Penny’s statement had been spot-on. It had been a busy day. Twenty-eight office patients in addition to the two she’d seen at the hospital before starting her official hours. As one of only three family practice docs in the small rural town, Blythe’s days were typically long and demanding. Today, more so than usual.
Too tired to even think about cooking, she pulled her cell from her purse and gave in to a craving she’d been feeling for weeks by ordering a loaded pizza for pickup from the town’s only pizzeria. It wouldn’t hurt to have one night devoid of salads and organically grown and grass fed proteins. Besides, Joy loved pizza.
After placing the order, she pulled out of the parking lot and called home. When the answering machine clicked on she was mildly surprised. Her nanny typically picked up.
“Hey, you two,” Blythe said after the recording ding signaled. “You’re probably out back playing on this lovely evening. Just wanted to give you a head’s up. I’ll be home in about twenty. Just heading to Ralph’s to pick up a pizza for dinner. And I can practically hear you clapping, Joy Charity Engersol. Set the table and I’ll see you both in a bit.”
The main street of Cable, New Hampshire, population 25,678, boasted a local pharmacy, a Quick-E-mart, a real estate office and three bars, in addition to two family style diners, one Chinese food restaurant, and Ralphs, the local –and to date only – town pizzeria. The police and fire departments bookended the wide street, with City Hall nestled smack in the middle between them. The north side of the street housed the Catholic church, the south side the Lutheran one. If a family practiced Judaism they needed to drive a half hour to the next town over to attend Temple. The hometown newspaper, which put out two weekly editions and a Sunday special, ran its operation from the old Woolworth building situated next to the police station.
Cable’s hospital was small but served the community of the five surrounding towns and villages well. Gossip had it a big health care conglomerate was looking to purchase the facility. Blythe heard the rumor from one of the hospital nurses a week ago, but nothing else since. As one of only five attending physicians in town, she figured she’d be approached one of these days about the proposed takeover. Was it bad of her to hope it never happened? She loved the small, insular community where she’d built her practice while raising her daughter. Neighbors knew one another, greeted each other on the streets in passing, but were private enough not to encroach ask too many questions or dig too deep into pasts.
The parking lot of Ralph’s was busy for at Tuesday June night. Once school let out for the year, the pizza joint – a favorite with the middle and high school crowd, would be packed every night until curfews were called and well-meaning parents intruded on the private lives of their offspring.
Thank God Joy is only ten. I don’t know how I’m going cope when she turns into a teenager.
Blythe figured if she still believed in prayer, she’d be sending up quite a few when her daughter’s teen years rolled around. Since she no longer did, she’d need to find an alternative to dealing with what she hoped wouldn’t be a moody, angsty teen like she saw every day in her practice.
Blythe eased her car into a vacant spot. The noise level inside Ralph’s brought forth memories of the early morning egg gatherings she’d been raised on. The hens would cluck, cackle and squawk when she’d reach under them to grab their morning contribution to breakfast, many times aiming a well-honed sharp beak at her roaming hand.
“Hey, Doc, “ Ralph Tremont called from behind the counter. “Yours is coming up in about five minutes.”
Blythe waved and miraculously spotted an empty two-seat table in a corner. After making a beeline for it, she sat and pulled out her phone. There were no messages or texts from either Joy or MaryElena.
Odd.
She dialed her home number again, then her nanny’s cell her gaze taking in the packed pizza parlor. While the phone rang, she spotted Benjamin Reed enter, remove his hat, then run his gaze around the room. It was a gesture she’d seen the police chief make often, and one which she was well versed in making as well.
His gaze lit on her and a tiny nod accompanied by a half smile came her way. Mary Elena’s answering machine kicked in right then, so she left a message, this time ending with call me before disconnecting.
“Seems like this is the hot spot to be tonight,” Ben said as he maneuvered his way to her table. “’Evening, Doc.”
“Chief.”
Blythe pasted a smile on her face. Since moving to Cable and taking over the job from the then retiring chief Dudley Comstock, Ben Reed had made an impression with the town elders as a staunch civil servant and with the females of the community as an eligible bachelor. Word on the street had it the man had never been married. If the available women of the town had anything to say about it, that situation was going to be corrected as soon as possible.
“Having dinner out tonight?” he asked, lifting a foot to a chair rung and leaning an elbow on his bent leg. His stance was calculated to give off a relaxed and easygoing vibe. It only served to put Blythe on edge. The attention of government authorities, police in particular, always made her nervous.
“Waiting for a pie to go,” she told him. “Special treat for tonight.”
“Special, eh? Someone’s birthday?”
It took everything in her to keep the tepid smile on her face.
Why were the police always so nosy? And why was Ben Reed so interested in her?
“Nope. Just a long day and I don’t feel like cooking.”
“I hear ya. Some weeks it seems like I live on take-out because I don’t have time to cook a decent meal. Long days turn into long nights way too often.”
Blythe knew decorum dictated she should ask the man to sit, but a well healed caution and lifelong distrust of lawmen kept her from the offer. She did wonder, though, how a tiny community like Cable could be so full of criminal acts to keep the chief of police up late at night. One of the main reasons she’d decided to come and settle in the area was its reportedly low crime rate.
Instead of giving voice to the question, Blythe gave him her version of a sympathetic expression, the one she used on people who tried to get her to open up and talk about her past.
Reed must have taken her bland smirk as a silent invitation to sit down and commiserate while they waited, because he nodded and he pulled out the chair. Blythe’s pulse kicked up a few beats. Just when it looked like she’d be forced to make unwanted and benign small talk with the man, Ralph called her name from the counter. She couldn’t rein in the relieved sigh that blew from her lips when she stood. Reed halted in his tracks.
“Well, that’s me. Enjoy your dinner, Chief Reed.” She gave him a hopefully not too bright smile and jogged up to the cash register.
The heat from Reed’s gaze as he tracked her while she paid and then bolted from the place burned a hole dead center in her back. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know he was following her with his eyes. With shaking hands she hit the fob on her key ring, opened the passenger side door and tossed the boxed pizza on to the seat with more vigor than she’d intended.
Great. The cheese’ll probably be stuck to the top now.
With an exasperated breath, she put the car in drive, checked her mirrors and pulled out of the parking lot. One quick look out the drivers’ side window and she spotted Ben Reed standing in the doorway to Ralph’s, his hat still in his hand, his eyes still trained on her.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out the man was interested in her. It wasn’t coincidence that he routinely showed up where ever she found herself, be it the gas station when she was filling up and he just happened to drive the squad in for a few added gallons, or those times she’d been going down one aisle in the quick-e-mart, tossing items in her shopping cart, only to spot him coming from the opposite direction, an empty basket dangling from his arm. Or even tonight as he just happened to come into Ralph’s on the one night she’d decided pizza for dinner was a good thing.
The man was interested and letting her know it without coming right out and saying so.
Not that she’d ever encouraged him. One thing Blythe knew for certain was getting personally involved with a man of the law was something to be avoided at all costs. But she also knew drawing attention to herself was the wrong thing to do as well and while she drove down Main Street, she gave herself a few choice words about how her behavior might churn up the Chief’s curiosity. Blythe didn’t need anyone being curious about her. Being curious lead to all manner of things she wanted to avoid at all costs.
Turning from the paved county road onto the winding, gravel-strewn one leading to her home, Blythe told herself to calm down, take a breath, and forget about it. Ben Reed was just a man. One she didn’t need and had no thought she ever would.
She hit the garage door opener and pulled in. With the still-piping hot pizza box in her hand, she came into the kitchen from the garage connecting door.
The room was empty and a quick glance at the table showed her it hadn’t been set.
“Hey, I’m home and I’ve got chow. Where are you, two?”
There were two glasses on the kitchen counter, small chunks of not-melted yet ice in the bottoms. The rest of the kitchen was spotless, a testament to MaryElena’s mild cleaning OCD.
Blythe moved from the kitchen to the hallway.
“Joy? MaryElena?”
Her voice echoed through the house.
The afternoon sun was low now, the living room still lit well from the sun filtering through the glass patio doors. They were closed and a quick peek through the glass into the fenced-in backyard showed it empty, the swing set still, the patio furniture in place and unused.
“Where the heck are you two?”
Mild irritation laced her voice.
Methodically, Blythe moved about the house. First, to her nanny’s tiny bedroom off the kitchen, which smelled faintly of roses from the air freshener that sat on top of the small dresser. The bed was made, as always, the hospital corners crisp and tight, the room neat without a speck of dust.
Then, on to the den.
Empty. The television was cold when Blythe touched it.
Up the stairs to the second floor. Joy’s bedroom to the right of the staircase was its usual chaos of strewn outfits she’d tried on for the day flung across her bed, her required summer reading books on the floor next to it, and a few dresser drawers partly opened. Her daughter’s habit of pulling clothing items from her closet and drawers and never putting anything back in place was a growing concern to a mother who liked everything Marie Kondo tidy.
The bathrooms next, then on to her own bedroom, and the small home office she’d fashioned for herself. All appeared as she’d left them that morning.
“This is ridiculous,” she murmured to the empty rooms. Annoyance pushed the mild irritation to the sidelines. “You could have at least left me a note.”
She tugged her phone from her pocket and pressed her Nanny’s speed dial number again.
Somewhere in the house, the ringtone MaryElena had assigned to her employer pinged, soft and faint.
“What the—”
Blythe followed the sound. Down the stairs to the first level. Through the hallway.
It was louder in the kitchen, but still muffled.
It’s coming from the basement.
A growing sense of unease pushed the previous pique away.
Blythe slowly pulled open the basement door only to have the noise stop abruptly. With a shaky finger, she pressed the speed dial again. Within seconds, the tone started up, the sound jingling up the stairs. Blythe reached out a hand and flicked the light switch on the wall to illuminate the darkened room below her.
Cautiously, she took each step down the wooden staircase, gripping the handrail with fingers now visibly trembling. The basement was the one area in the house she’d yet to refinish, promising herself at least twice a year she’d call a contractor and a painter to make the area which ran the length of the house a space where Joy could bring her friends to play and hang out. A finished basement always added to the resale value of a house, too, something Blythe kept in the back of her mind at all times.
Step by step she slowly descended the wooden stairs, one hand clinging to her phone, the other the rail. The stairs were as old as the house and needed to be redone along with the basement. They creaked and groaned with each move Blythe took from one to the next. There was no way she could be silent as she descended. At the bottom rung, the ring tone cut out again, but not before Blythe ascertained it was coming from the laundry room off to the left of the staircase.
“MaryElena? Joy? You guys down here?”
Silence surrounded her.
“If this is some kind of prank, I’m not amused.”
Willing her feet to move, Blythe cautiously crept towards the laundry room, holding her cell phone out in front of her as if it were a weapon.
“I swear, Joy Charity Engersol, I will ground you until you’re fifty if something jumps out at me.”
Placing one hand on the doorjamb separating the laundry area from the basement proper, Blythe angled her body behind the wall and peeked her head into the tiny room. Nothing, as she’d feared, flew out at her.
But an odor she was intimately familiar with, did. The metallic, copper-filled stench of fresh blood hit her hard and hot. A swell of nausea pushed at her throat. At the same time she understood what it was, she saw the cause.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.”
Blythe bent to the fallen form of her nanny. The young girl was on her back, her arms flung out at her sides, her right leg bent at a critical angle. Her neck was sliced from ear to ear, blood from the wound a crimson colored wave. That told the doctor in Blythe whatever had attacked her had done so very recently. Vacant, brown eyes, the irises beginning to glaze over, stared up at Blythe. MaryEllen’s cell phone was gripped between her fingers.
Even instinctively knowing the girl was dead, Blythe’s training forced her to check for a heartbeat. She pushed two fingers to the girl’s outstretched wrist, waited, and felt nothing.
Blythe bolted upright. Her gaze darted around the small space searching for her daughter.
“Joy?” This time she allowed her voice to scream the name, over and as she ran around the width of the basement, throwing open the doors to storage closets nestled into two of the faux walls. When they proved empty, she catapulted back up the stairs at a breakneck speed.
“Joy?” The power behind her shriek made the chandelier in the dining room tremble.
Heart banging against her chest Blythe punched in the emergency code on her phone as she continued to move through the rooms, searching, silently praying to find her daughter.
Back in the kitchen, the county dispatcher answered. Blythe dragged in a deep breath and willed herself to calm down.
“Courtney, it’s Blythe Engersol.”
“Hey, Doc. You got an emergency?”
“I need…help. I just got home.” Her fingers started tingling and the fringes of her vision began to blur.
Breathe. In…out.
“My…my Nanny’s been killed. And my daughter’s missing. I can’t find her. Courtney, I can’t find Joy. Please. Please send help. Please.”
The rest of her vision turned hazy, the tingling in her hands shooting up her arms, her grip of the phone beginning to grow slack. It took every ounce of strength she had to hold on to it. With her free hand she reached out and bolstered herself against the marble counter top.
“Stay with me, Doc. I’m calling the Chief and the deputies now. Are you in the house?”
“Ye…yes. I’m here.”
“Are you alone?”
“I think … I’m not…sure.”
“Listen, Doc. Leave. Go outside and wait for the Chief. Sit on the curb or something, but don’t stay in the house. I’m gonna stay on the line with you, okay? Go. Now. Right now. Go outside and wait.”
“Leave? I…can’t. Joy…Joy’s not… she needs me. She—”
Her vision tunneled, and all she could see was the countertop in front of her.
Oh, please don’t let me faint.
“I’m…”
“Doc? Doc?”
The light winked out as if she’d extinguished a candle. The last thought Blythe had as slid to the tiled kitchen floor, the phone bouncing from her hand across the hard surface, was that she needed to find her daughter.
Intrigued?
July 21, 2024
July 17, 2024
#TBT #Throwbackthursday #TBThursday 7.17.24
From February 2018…
This is a funfunfun topic for me. I sincerely don’t know what writers did before PINTEREST came along. The first time I was ever told about the site and then visited it, I was addicted. For Life. Seriously.
You all know I’m a huge plotter when it comes to my books. I have everything lined up, plotted out, and squared off before I ever start writing because I’m so anal. It’s that damn scientific background – I always need to know where I’m going. In the past I’d look for pictures of my characters or places or settings in magazines. Being able to visibly “see” how I wanted someone to look made it waaaaay easier for me to write about them. With the advent of Google, I tossed the mags and started trolling celebrity sites – because back in the day they were the only pictures you could really find.
It’s a new day, people. We don’t need Google images anymore -we’ve got PINTEREST. Anyone can upload a picture of pretty much anything ( legal, that is!) From the moment I used Pinterest to categorize and help me plot/storyboard my books, my life got sosososos much easier. I had more time to write because I didn’t need to troll endlessly looking for images through mags anymore. I simply plugged in something like “guys, 30’s black hair, green eyes,” and 9,000,000 PINS instantly popped up for me to choose from.
Score!
So, for the first time, I’m giving you a little glimpse into how I storyboard my characters on Pinterest. The links below are to my Will Cook For Love Series books. These Pins/pictures are how I “saw” the books when I was writing them. (A few of the books haven’t been published yet so this is like a little teaser!) Let me know your thoughts.
And I even have an alternative breakout spinoff series to Cooking with Kandy called Bros, Inc.
You’re welcome for that last one!
When I’m not doing RESEARCH ( wink wink) you can find me here: Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// Book Me
July 16, 2024
July 15, 2024
#teasertuesday 7.16.24
We’re still celebrating CHRISTMAS IN JULY Over on the CHRISTMAS COMES TO DICKENS FB page, so here’s a little tease from my 2024 addition, A CHEF’S KISS CHRISTMAS. SO, if you read last year’s entry, DON’T MESS WITH THE MISTLETOE, you will recognize Julia Charles here today. Things have changed for the lovely waitress in this past year…
At one point, the noise level rose considerably, and his head flicked toward the swing doors. They blew open as someone pushed them so hard that they bounced back against the wall and then flung forward again as a unit. Amy’s outstretched hand held them at bay, her other hand wrapped around Julia’s upper arm. The younger woman was waddling, the advanced state of her pregnancy evident today.
“Tony,” Amy barked, “Get me a chair.”
He’d been around kitchen emergencies his entire life. Grease fires, ovens shooting flames from food catching fire, a fryolator overheating, a mishandled knife or two. He recognized the urgency in Amy’s voice.
Like a lightning strike, he shot to the office and returned with Amy’s desk chair.
Julia, sweating and panting, eased down into it with her mother-in-law’s and his help.
“Now RayLynn already called for an ambulance, darlin’,” she told the younger woman as she patted her hand, “and I’m gonna call Michael right now and start the Charles’ family phone tree.” She pulled her cell from her apron pocket and pressed a single button.
From the gist of what he’d just heard, Tony deduced Julia was in labor.
He was about to ask her if he could get her anything or help in any way, but the words were never unleashed because the swing door flew open again, and two paramedics from Dickens Memorial Hospital sailed through grasping a gurney.
Questions were asked and answered, a device was threaded around her ample waist with an explanation it was a fetal heart monitor to gage the baby’s heartrate.
Five minutes after they arrived, Julia was secured, monitor in place, along with an Intravenous inserted, and on her way out the door to the hospital.
Amy grabbed her coat from the peg by the back door, and as she shrugged into it told him, “You’re in charge while I’m gone,” before breezing out the door. “Keep my kitchen running.”
He didn’t hesitate before saying, “Yes, Ma’am.” It was only after the doors closed behind her that he realized he’d agreed without any hesitation or worry.
Something to think about later.
For now, there were hungry people in the dining room.
They made it through the breakfast rush, the lunch crush, and the midafternoon lull. Amy had called twice to check on everything and give baby updates. Julia was still in labor, her pilot husband Michael by her side, along with Julia’s eight-year-old daughter from her first marriage, Blake.
She asked him to hold down the fort for a few more hours. Since he’d been planning to, he told her he would.
The last weekend of the month ( July 26-27, ) It will be my turn to take over as a DICKEN’S Author on the FB page. At that time, I’ll reveal my 2024 cover. It’s a beauty!
