Sherry Morris's Blog, page 13

Shaking Things Up with Cross Training

I've been burning fat since May of this year. Slowly, dutifully, the pounds are coming off. Dieting ceased to work on my metabolism a couple of years back. I'd never been able to lose any weight at the gym, only through dieting.

It's not that I hadn't made the decision many times that I was going to exercise to lose weight. It's not that I didn't try. It's that I didn't know my efforts were lax. I went to all kinds of group exercise classes at the gym. And I noticed that the same fat ladies who were my classmates were still fat a year later. As was I. I actually gained weight. In December 2012, I realized that runners lost a lot of weight. Runners kept the weight off. Runners were thin. Runners were happy. Runners got injured a lot.

So I signed up for a 5K in Disney World for February 2014 and in January 2013 began a Couch to 5K training program I ripped out of a magazine. I didn't follow through. Lost interest in the program. I don't like being told what to do when I don't want to do it. As the race approached, I stepped up my efforts and yes, I did cross the finish line, but was in danger the whole time of being swept up onto the bus because I was so slow.

I didn't run at all afterwards, and we went on a quick Mother's Day vacation. The day we returned, my husband signed us up for the Marine Corps 5K to be run the next day. With no training. And I was weighing in post-vacation at 152 pounds on my 5' frame! Had I known the first two-thirds of the race was uphill, I never would have pinned my bib on. Guess what? I crossed the finish line! And slapped hands with two dozen encouraging Marines.

I tried the Atkins diet again, and only lost a couple pounds. I stayed on the Induction phase for seven weeks and was really disappointed. So once again, I tore a Couch to 5K training program out of a magazine. I was going to do a Run/Walk program as suggested on the Run Disney website. After looking it over, I ripped out a Couch to Half-Marathon training program out and decided to challenge myself. Hey, I had crossed the finish line of two 5Ks, I had that. I don't in a billion years intend to run a half-marathon, but I decided I needed to try endurance training. I ordered an interval timer, and followed the plan diligently for nine weeks. Then something shocking happened. I wanted to run more days than the plan allowed. I wanted to stop walking and run continuously! 

The pounds began coming off as soon as I started the Couch to Half-Marathon program. I discontinued diet attempts. Now I'm trying to just eat mindfully. I lost 14 pounds and then my husband took me to Disney World for my 51st birthday. Yes, I'm that old, and learning to run. We have season tickets and my husband spoils me. They gave me a Happy Birthday button to wear and that prompted the Disney cast to present me with free cupcakes after meals. Three! I gained four pounds. It's been so hard to get those piggie pounds off again. So I stepped up my cross-training. No more stair mill and gentle yoga.

I'm revisiting many of the hard classes at the gym I tried once and didn't like. Guess what? Since I'm lighter, and have been running, my endurance has increased and I'm able to put more effort into the classes with less dread. And no more sneaking out.

This past week, I rediscovered Body Vive, which is a low impact cardio class; PiYo, which is a Yoga Boot Camp Cardio class (the first time I took it I was dizzy the first 40 minutes!) I did just fine this time; and RPM, which is a group cycling class. I'd tried it several times about 18 months ago, but never saw any results. I had the instructor help me set up my bike and my goodness I got a good workout without bruising my lady bits. I don't know if it's those specific bikes, or spin cycles in general, but every woman at my gym goes through a painful learning curve.

I chatted with a lady in the locker room who has lost 35 pounds this year from becoming a group exercise class addict. And she looks great! I never would have guessed she had ever been overweight.

This past week, two more of the piggie pounds came off. I'm back into the 130's! One more oinker pound then I can resume my weight loss journey. I have ramped up my schedule to include more hard classes and more running. It's all inked onto our family calendar.

I'm going to Disney World with my daughter in September. I hope to be a lot lighter by then. And I'm looking at menus now, hoping to make different yet equally delicious meal choices so that I don't gain four pounds again. Have I mentioned my favorite restaurants are on Disney property? The food is so good!

Summer Book Sales Slow Down

I have sold one book so far this month. A kindle version of Persuasive Lips, the sexy prequel to my Good Girls of Washington series. No books at any other retailers.
I used to sell an average of a book a day. Then a book a week. But one book in a month is just beyond disappointing.
I've done everything possible with my price points. When the 99 cents sales ground to a halt, I inched up the prices a dollar at a time. No sales. Then I matched the $5.95 price my publisher, Eternal Press charges for Thousand Dollar Pharaoh. No sales. So now everything is back at $2.99, the minimum price at which Amazon will give you a 70% royalty in the US.
At some point over the last two years, all of my Indie published books have been free. I gave away thousands. And received horrible reviews in return. The few good reviews I have are for books people paid for. The horrible reviews will not go away. No matter how many times I unpublish, they are saved for when I make the books available again. I suppose I could make up new titles, pour money into new covers and change names, locations, etc. and republish the books. That might get rid of the bad reviews. But it would be cheating the readers who would be tricked into buying books they've already read. For free. Plus I haven't made enough in royalties to cover my original start-up costs, so where would the dough come from?
Amazon has a new promo. $10 to read all the books you want in a month. The books that are in their KDP program. You know, the one where it is exclusive to Amazon and can't be available electronically anywhere else? The one where you can offer it free for one week per month? The one where I offered it for free and got all the bad reviews? This time, someone must read past the first 10% in order for you to get credit and be put into their pool of authors who get money.
Guess what? That actually doesn't sound bad to this author who has only sold one $2.99 book this month at Kindle and nowhere else. So I republished my old erotic romances written in a pseudo into their program. So far, no takers. But nothing lost. I'm also going to toss PERSUASIVE LIPS and DEVIL IN THE DEEP BLUE SEA into the abyss as soon as Barnes and Noble removes them from sale. Apple and Kobo and All Romance eBooks already have.

Do I expect a bump in sales? Nope, especially since nobody ever bought my short story, DEVIL as a kindle. But nothing ventured, nothing lost.

It's just something else productive to do, making me feel like I'm at least trying to entertain readers.

Lemon Pound Cake

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3 eggs
1 cup granulated sugar
2 Tbsp butter
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp lemon extract
1/3 cup lemon juice
1/2 cup vegetable oil


Icing:
1 cup plus 1 Tbsp powdered sugar
2 Tbsp Lemon Juice
1 tsp lemon extractPreheat oven to 350°.

Combine flour, baking soda, baking powder & salt in a large bowl.

Use an electric mixer to blend together eggs, sugar, butter, vanilla, lemon extract & lemon juice in a medium bowl. Pour wet ingredients into dry ingredients. Blend until smooth.

Add oil and mix well. Pour ingredients into a greased 9x5-inch loaf pan. Bake for 45 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean. Make the lemon icing by combining ingredients in a small bowl with electric mixer on low speed.

Remove cake from pan and cool completely on a cooling rack with wax paper under the rack. When cake is completely cool, drizzle icing all over the top. Icing will harden in a few moments. Serve at room temperature. 

My First Long Run Outdoors

I've been following a Couch to Half-Marathon Run/Walk training program I ripped from a magazine for the last 9 weeks. Most of the running has been either in my basement or at one of the gyms on a treadmill. Today I tossed that aside and ran outside.

I purposely left my interval timer at home. I wanted to run. I strapped on my little stretchy fanny pack with a Ziploc baggie housing my phone and driver's licence. I borrowed my daughter's pepper spray and clipped it onto my belt. A house key went in my gym shorts' pocket. I kissed my husband and set out.

The plan insists you warm up with a 5 minute walk and cool down the same. I didn't want to time anything, so I just walked briskly to the main road. I then ran the whole way, uphill, only pausing for walk breaks at the intersections. I walked across the traffic then ran again. I did it!

No wild animals stalked me. No wild humans. I didn't even see any animals, only heard two barking dogs. I passed a lady in pink and black walking who gave me a fake smile greeting but wouldn't say "Hello" to my cheery greeting. She was probably envious I was running. Snicker snicker. I used to be jealous of those athletic types. Now I am one. Patting myself on the back here.

I passed a girl on a bike who gave me a cheery "Good morning!" before I could.

No other encounters.

On the sidewalk, the following litter was identified:  a smashed tri-colored bell pepper, an empty bacon jerky package, half a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, a water bottle with an ounce left and a cigarette butt.

I ran as far as the sidewalk lasted, down a highway in front of Wal-Mart. I decided to turn around and retrace my path, figuring I'd be safer on the highway than running through the parking lot.

My long run only racked up to 2.33 miles according to my App. My husband was surprised to see me home so quickly. 45 minutes. I ran the whole way. Quality strides. I enjoyed my run!  Wow, I really wrote  that.

The day lily is in my yard.

Fitness Update

After a week long birthday celebration in Florida, with lots of favorite food, my weight loss of 14 pounds has shrunk to 10. Oh well. And we did hit the hotel gym most days.

I'm still over the moon about being 10 pounds lighter. And I'm not scolding myself for enjoying life and it's yummy abundance.

I'm following a couch to half-marathon training program, and am in my 8th or is it 9th week now? Actually I'm now loosely following it, because I feel the need to step it up. Not because of the weight gain. But because I am progressing faster than the plan. Instead of two short and one long run per week, I want to do four short runs each week and one long run every other week. Because I just read advice from Jeff Galloway, the Run Disney coach, that said you don't need a long run every week. Sounds great to me. And I am not actually in training for a half-marathon. I've finished in the nick of time in two 5Ks. I'd like to improve my time on that distance, so I don't have the stress of worrying the bus will sweep me up and I won't be permitted to cross the finish line. My running genes are a cross between a penguin and a turtle. But that's okay.

I also want to step-up my cross training. I was just doing the stair mill and yoga. And no longer feeling any soreness afterwards. For the rest of July, I'm going to work a dozen different group fitness classes into my routine.

I'll endeavor to attend a class at the gym six mornings per week. On the seventh day, I'll rest. On the 14th day, I'll do my long run, which is up to two hours so no way Jose will I add an hour group exercise class. I will also take a break from doing the short 30 minute runs the day before and after the long run. But I'll still cross-train those days.

I'm going to keep inching up on how many consecutive minutes I'm running (Today I Ran 5 minutes, walked 1 minute x 5 times). I'm not pushing myself on speed yet. The goal is to finish upright and smiling.

If I'm unable/unwilling to run or participate in a class each and every day, oh well. No guilt. But I'm really hoping I'll be able to do it. And come out of this five pounds lighter in August. And to feel toned and tighter.

What are you waiting for? Get up and do something.

I'm 39 Again!

When I turned 40, I weighed 140 pounds. When I turned 50, I weighed 150 pounds! I'm going to be celebrating my 51st birthday in a couple of weeks and my dream was to be 139 pounds or lighter. I hit that magnificent milestone after my run today! I haven't weighed this little since I was 39 years old, twelve years ago.

I married at 18. I was 97 pounds on my wedding day. I should note I'm only 5' tall. Within the first year of marriage, I finished growing, up to a whopping 112 pounds. I made it back down to 114 after my first pregnancy, twins, ended quite sadly. I went on to have two more gestations, with plump 9 pound singleton babies to take home. After my last, I made it down to 119 pounds when I was 30.

I yo-yo dieted and walked and joined gyms many times over the years. Never loosing more than 11 pounds by dieting. Never loosing any weight at the gym.

At some point in the last fifteen years, I decided I was tired of it all and accepted I was a fat mom. I bought bigger clothes from QVC. Size small fits a fat lady, by the way. It's a shame what their clothing manufacturers do to support the obesity epidemic. But I do love their clothes, they drape nicely and make me feel pretty. It's just they are helping to keep American and British women in denial about how fat they really are by marking the clothing two sizes smaller than industry standard.

I've never been an athlete. I was always the last one picked for teams. "Oh, all right, we'll take Sherry." I was treated for pigeon toeing as a child, through elementary school. Ugly brown high top shoes. A metal apparatus to sleep in. Physical Therapy. I had to look down when I played outside, lest I trip over the cracks in the sidewalk. My beautiful sister, Beth, was forced to wear braces on her legs for the same condition. She'd take them off and hang them on the stair rail. Sadly she passed at Thanksgiving of Lung Cancer. She was a non-smoker.

Anyhow, last year it finally sunk in that runners were skinny. People who ran lost gobs of weight, quickly. Runners were happy. Runners ate whatever they wanted and then burned it off running. Runners got high running. Runners got injured.

So, I set about to read all I could about the sport. I decided to take it easy, lest I become injured and that would set me way back. So I signed up for a 5K in Disney World. Then I "trained" for a year. Ha ha ha! I run at turtle speed on the treadmill. I got fatter. After a year of "training" I completed the 5K, walking most of the way, just under the maximum time before they pick you up and put you on a bus and don't let you cross the finish line. I did complete the race! I did it! I became an endurance athlete in February this year.

In May, we returned from a trip and my husband signed us up for a Marine Corps 5K, the very next day. No training! Had I realized the first two-thirds of the course was uphill, I never would have done it. But guess what? I did do it! I finished in the nick of time again!

I weighed 152 pounds the morning of the race. That was 7 weeks ago. I'm now 139 pounds, a net loss of 13 pounds. Most of it came off the first three weeks due to better eating habits. Now the pounds are coming off very slowly, but they are being burned off from exercise. I'm following Jenny Hadfield's Couch to Half-Marathon Training Plan which I pulled out of a magazine. It's a Walk/Run method. I'd first read of this alternative from the Run Disney website's coach, Jeff Galloway. I have no intention of running a half-marathon, but I figured the training would be good for me. It's forcing me to run further and faster.

It took me 11 days to lose the last two pounds. So frustrating. But I did it!

My pie in the sky dream weight is the 112 pounds I weighed on my first anniversary. I know I'll feel good when I get into the 120's and I'll look fantastic when I dip below 120. So as long as I can settle somewhere in the one teens, I'll be smoking hot and healthy.

Stay tuned for further updates. And get off the couch and Walk/Run!

So Close to Celebrating

I'm waiting to blog again until I can gush about achieving my first major weight loss goal. Only 2 pounds to go and I'll be the lowest I've been in 12 years.

Stay tuned...

Home Improvement Wish List

I wish for the front door project to be completed, inside and out.
I wish for the family room and upstairs hall ceilings painted the existing color, to cover up the A/C and tub leak stains and my oops paint mess.
I wish for the living room, dining room, entire foyer, powder room, family room, office, kitchen and laundry room painted in a light or medium shade of gray with crisp white trim and doors.
I wish for the master bedroom and bathroom, kids' bathroom and Claytor's room to be painted a light shade off-white or beige with crisp white trim and doors.
I wish for the openings to the living room and both dining room entrances to be cased and painted crisp white.
I wish for a built in microwave vented to outside.
I wish for bamboo floors throughout the first floor.
I wish for the outside garage light to be installed.
I wish for light fixtures in all the bathrooms that don't have empty bulb sockets. 
I wish for the outside trim to be replaced/repaired if needed and painted the same color.
I wish for the deck to be redone with stairs to code.
I wish for a subway tile back-splash in the kitchen.
I wish to have the kitchen cabinets refaced or made to look better.
I wish for new counter tops in the kitchen.
I wish for the bathroom mirrors to be updated.
I wish for a new foyer chandelier and working lights in the upstairs hall.
I wish for a white ceramic tile floor in the kids’ bath and master bath.
I wish for all missing moulding to be replaced.

Time Travel Romance

★★★★★Wow! "I've never been a real super natural, other worldly type kind of reader. Loved this book. Couldn't put it down. So creative and enjoyable!"--Nook Review
THE IMMACULATE DECEPTION BY SHERRY SILVER
Book Summary:
After her SUV meets the business end of a deer, Oh-Donna is pulled into an exciting dreamland far away from her peon job and selfish siblings--where mystery, murder and romance take over. Her debonair angel takes her time traveling through the sordid pasts of her Secret Service Agent mother and her genius medical researcher father--who was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe. Oh-Donna discovers she is the first baby born from an ovarian transplant. She must sleuth out the dark secrets of her D.N.A. and close an unsolved murder.Excerpt from Chapter Two: 
At that very instant, I felt a force field enveloping me. The best way I can describe it would be a tingling sensation with a mix of adrenaline, endorphins, laughter, inebriation and orgasm. It started at the top of my head and then split down both sides, wrapping my body in a glorious package. What was going on? I didn’t even believe in destiny. So how come I was so sure something wonderful was about to happen? I smiled. I smiled so hard my face hurt. I couldn’t help it. I felt like a sublime dumbstruck ingénue. His grin answered mine, radiating a sense of total approval. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t concerned about my physical shortcomings. I sized him up. He was wearing a gray overcoat, matching fedora, nice trousers and shoes. The man was holding a paper sack and was looking at me looking him over. He eyed me up and down, his gaze lingering in all the usual spots. It had been so long since anyone had leered at me. And his grin just grew larger. He seemed to genuinely like what he saw. And so did I. Finally the stranger spoke, in a low gentle voice, with a hint of an English accent. “Hello, Cinderella. Do you know me?” “Should I? I mean…I feel like I’ve dreamed you into life.” I sighed. “Something like that.” “Do you know me?” I asked, searching his face, not knowing whether to hope he did or hope he didn’t. “Of course.” I stuttered, “Who are you?” In the sweetest, knowingest voice I’d ever heard, he said, “I’m an angel. Your mate. Your soul mate across history.” He took my hand into his and kissed it. I thought I was going to swoon. I felt like I’d yearned for this moment all my life. I didn’t know what to expect but he was so much more than I expected. I was overwhelmed. Wait. This guy must be a nut. What exactly did he mean he was my soul mate across history? That was the most preposterous come-on line I’d ever heard. My mate? Did he mean in a sexual way? Well, not that I minded. He was very hot. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted to believe him. An angel. My mate…across history. Did that mean I was born into the wrong generation? Was that why I was so different from the rest of my family? I felt a very strong connection coming from him. A warm and fuzzy feeling that rubbed me in just the right places. He stuck his hand inside of the paper bag and pulled out a hamburger. “Hungry, Donna?” “Yes.” I grabbed the burger, removed the patty from the bun and gobbled just the meat. “Here, have another.” He handed me a second small hot burger and snatched the empty buns from me. Tearing them into tiny pieces, he lined the bread on the bridge railing. He plucked a third burger from the bag and joined me in snacking. “What are you doing out on such a treacherous night, Cinderella?” I thought about it for a while. I remembered trying on Momma’s fur coat and looking at her pictures. I wondered where she was. I had been waiting for her at her house. Perry had said that he had locked her up in a mental hospital and that she had escaped and killed Daddy. Damn him. Poor Momma. I had to find her. “I’m looking for my mother, Mrs. Payne.” Wait, silly. I’m dreaming in 1945. “Um, maybe you know her by Chloe Lambert?” “Right. Girl Secret Service agent. Works over at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.” This was getting really weird. Maybe I’d lost my mind, maybe I’d fractured my skull during the accident. I had to be dreaming. But in my dream, I could actually taste the ketchup. Grease was dripping down the side of my face. What a burger! This guy was still staring at me. He was so cute. My stomach started fluttering. What color hair would he have under that hat? He interrupted my thoughts. “So would you like me to accompany you?” “Sure, why not. Where’re we off to?” “I thought you’re looking for your mum?” A pair of fat ravens landed on the railing and pecked at the bread. I began shivering. Snowflakes dropped down in big swirls. They spun around in the glow of the gas lamps. “Button up your frock, love. You shouldn’t be gadding about…um, nude…in this kind of weather.” “Nude?” I felt the snow melting on my tummy. Oh my gosh, I’m not wearing anything under this fur coat! My numb fingers fought to shove the silk buttons through the loops. Great, just great. Now he’s seen the finer parts of my anatomy, all bandaged and bruised. Wait a minute, where is the new dressing I taped on the wound? I began rubbing my shoulder and chest. He said, “Need any help?” I looked at him. “What?” I had smooth, completely healed skin. No scar. I buttoned the top button. He winked and threw the hamburger wrappers and sack in a wire trash bin. He playfully tipped the brim of his fedora and offered me his arm. I entwined mine and we began walking, back toward Washington. Wait a minute. I stopped. I was stumble-galloping. “How’d you lose a heel?” he asked me. “Don’t know.” I turned around and saw the heel sticking out of the grate in the sidewalk. “I guess it broke off.” “Well, we’ll not get far like this.” Before I could process the situation, he hoisted me off the ground and over his shoulder. My hair flopped down. All I could see was his backside and the cobblestone sidewalk. “Hey, what’s with the caveman carry?” I asked. The blood rushing to my head felt kind of nice. I got a little high. My mate laughed in a low deep voice. “Fireman’s carry, love.” “Oh.” I burped. And blushed. What am I doing embarrassing myself in my own darned dream? Leave it to me. “What’d you say?” “I didn’t say anything, I just belched.” “Oh.” He started patting my rear end. “Hey!” “Sorry, I thought you needed to be burped.” He laughed. So did I. This apparition was a fun boy. The blood rushed out of my arms. I was hanging on to the hem of his overcoat. Felt itchy, like wool. I flailed my right arm up and swatted his fedora off. “Hey, what did you go and do that for?” He stopped and set me down. I brushed the hair from my face. “You’re a blond.” I smiled. “And so are you.” “I like your flat-top haircut.” “I like your curly-top haircut.” “Well, then it’s settled. We are blond soul mates through history. Come on. Let’s go and find my mother.” The wind picked up. And dream boy picked me back up. This guy was strong. Couldn’t wait to see his muscles. Nah, with my luck, I’d wake up before I could even get a kiss in the dark. My mate walked. He set me down again. I fixed up my hair and squinted around. Washington loomed dark under a heavy cloud cover. He said, “This is it. The United States Bureau of Engraving and Printing.” “Sounds boring. What do they do in there? Print up invitations to Internal Revenue Service parties or something?” “Nah, nothing that exciting. They just print new United States currency in there.” “Currency? You mean dollars?” He nodded affirmatively. “Sweet. Well, thanks, let’s go in and get my mother.” “It’s oh–one hundred hours. She doesn’t work in the middle of the night.” I noticed a light approaching from the center of the street. It grew brighter. I listened to the squeal of the brakes. My apparition boy had unbuttoned his overcoat. He fumbled in his left front trouser pocket. “Need any help?” I grinned. He raised his eyebrows. “Some other time, love. I’m just fishing for these.” He produced two round wooden objects. “Streetcar tokens.” “But they paved over the tracks decades ago…” “What?” he asked. Why would a streetcar be running after midnight? Better not scare this hunk away with boring questions. “Oh nothing.” He helped me up the steps. I plopped down on the hard wooden bench right behind the driver. My mate settled next to me and slipped his arm around my shoulders. He smelled so good. Very manly, like he’d just showered with a strong refreshing deodorant soap. I leaned my head on his shoulder and cuddled right up. I was so tired. ~*~Great. Now I heard the “Donna” song, my nickname song, resonating through the trolley car. I covered my ears. I didn’t want this extraordinarily dreamy man to hear it. If he would call me anything, then not “Oh-Donna”. A loud wooden thump woke me. I reluctantly opened my eyes. Darn it, I saw the lone light bulb with the brown shoestring pull. My dream was over. I let out a big disappointed sigh. Didn’t get to kiss him. I was back in the real world and my reality sucked. I heard voices out in the rec room. It sounded like Spanish. Spanish…and…Tammy. Just great. I sat up. “Owww!” My pain rushed back with fury. The closet door flew open. My sister asked, “What’re you doing…lurking back in there? Perry said you found the body. What, did ya spend the night in the closet? You’re so freaky, Oh-Donna.” “Nice to see you again too, Sis.” I looked at her. Tammy was about ninety-five pounds of tawny-complected toned muscle, makeup and satiny jet-black hair. Implants and Botox in just the right places. She really was gorgeous…on the outside. “What time is it? And what day is it?” Tammy screwed her little forehead up and said, “It’s after five p.m. on Tuesday. You look like crap. What happened to your face? Cut yourself shaving? Isn’t that Mom’s blouse? And what’s with the pants? Retro orderly? Ya look like a bag lady, Oh-Donna.” I plodded past her into the rec room. Two men were occupied setting up the Dracula box. Daddy’s coffin. Daddy’s dead body was in there. Heat rose from my feet, up my legs, through my torso and into my face. Oh no. I knew this sensation. The room commenced spinning. My stomach went along for the ride. Shouldn’t have had those hamburgers. Wait a minute, that was just a dream. I didn’t have anything in my stomach to throw up. I tried swallowing it down. I was so hot. Everything around me was swirling and then everything went dark. I came to, with cold water dripping off my face where Tammy had evidently thrown it. She hovered over me with a tea-stained floral plastic tumbler. I wiped my palm across my face. “Why didn’t you just shove my head in the toilet?” “Get up, Oh-Donna. Why’d you faint? You always were the little sissy-girl. I know you can’t be pregnant.” She shot a look toward the Latino men as if to humiliate me. “You need to vacuum upstairs and dust before the food gets here.” I sat up, trying to sling water droplets at Tammy. “I can’t believe you’re having an Irish wake… And what’s Daddy doing here? Did they finish embalming him that quick?” “Embalming costs money.” I was so confused. “But-but didn’t the coroner order an autopsy?” “He was old, it was his time to go.” “But-but Perry made accusations about foul play. He said the police were coming to process the scene. Did they? If so, the coroner would perform a postmortem exam and prove Perry wrong. Was Daddy autopsied?” “I don’t know anything about a police investigation. I haven’t seen or talked to any cops. And you know good and well that we Paynes do not believe in autopsies.” If no autopsy had been performed and the body had been released to the family, then quite obviously the authorities thought he died of natural causes. “Then you agree there was no crime. Daddy just had a heart attack.” “Whatever. He’s dead.” I lurched up, gritting my teeth on the pain. The men were gone. I shuddered and turned my back to the coffin. Tammy sashayed over to it. I hated that thing. It basically terrified me. I heard a creaky squeak as she opened the lid. “Look at what a good job I did on his makeup.” “No!” I bolted upstairs. My sister chased me, laughing. Tammy said, “I’m sorry, hon. I know you were his favorite.” I was his favorite? Excuse me, but you are the one he gushed over, going on and on about all of your great achievements, how you did so and so’s makeup in the blockbuster movie du jour. And then after you switched careers, he’d gossip about Senator so and so’s abs you six-packed. Tammy said, “The viewing is from seven until nine. You need to get the place spiffed up before the mourners arrive. And change your clothes, huh?” “But-but the attendants left. They can’t legally leave the body.” The doorbell rang. Tammy sailed down the three red-carpeted steps to the landing. She turned to me and said, “Of course not. Those were plumbers working on Mrs. Meddlestein’s place. I had them set up the Dracula box for me. Daddy’s not actually inside but the mourners won’t know. It’ll save us money. Let me and Perry know how the viewing went.” Tammy opened the front door. A fast food deliveryman from Kentucky Fried Chicken gripped a large cardboard box. He had an orange turban, a long gray beard with a handlebar moustache and black basset hound eyes. Tammy told him, “Take the food downstairs. The lady up over there will pay you.” Then she wiggled past him. Grinning with bright yellow jumbled teeth, he turned his head and leered at my sister. All right, that’s enough. I stumbled down the steps and grabbed a large side of mashed potatoes from the box. I lobbed it at Tammy. Whoo hoo! Potatoed her right in her pretty black ponytail. She screamed. Who was the sissy-girl now? I shoved back inside and slammed the door in the poor delivery guy’s face. Okay, that wasn’t nice. I reached back through the wrought iron railing and felt around inside my orange plastic hospital goody bag. I fished out a five. I opened the door and handed it to the guy. “Sorry, but I didn’t order this food. Here’s for your trouble.” He insisted, “You must pay!” “Take it up with Mrs. Potato Head.” I shut the door and locked it. I slumped down on the slate landing. My anger gave way to a tirade of tears. Daddy, oh Daddy… I love you. Why now? Why did you do this to me? I know you didn’t love me the way you loved Perry and Tammy. But that’s okay. I still loved you. I tried to come and referee the fight you had with Momma on Thursday. But I was in an accident and I couldn’t get to you any sooner than I did. I don’t even know what really happened. Did Momma really turn that deep freezer over on you? Is that what killed you or was it your heart? Momma wouldn’t do that, would she? Where is Momma? Oh Momma, come and hug me and make it all better. Momma, please Momma? The doorbell forced me to my knees. I peeked through the waist-high peephole. Daddy had drilled it for me when we moved in, so I could see through it. I was about five or six years old at the time and frequently left home alone. Perry was a teenager, off on his own fun. Tammy had a special babysitter she went to, called Mommy Kay. There was a cop outside. Perry’s technician probably. Bet he’d ask me more unpleasant questions about Daddy and Momma, investigate the crime scene and all that stuff. I was so tired. I didn’t want to deal with any more questions right now. I was in no shape to blindly defend Momma though I had no doubt she was innocent. There was no murder scene here, therefore no evidence that needed processing. I fled down the basement stairs. The Dracula box momentarily stunned me. I hid in the walk-in closet. No more Perry, no more Tammy. I just wanted to be left alone for a change. I could still hear the cop pounding on the front door. Just go and give me some space, will ya? I breathed with my mouth open in the dark mustiness. My fingers were greasy from handling the potatoes. I laughed, enjoying the mental picture. Should’ve thrown the hot brown gravy too. Hmm, no more knocking or ringing. I swatted in the dark and felt the soft shoestring. I yanked the light on. Looking around, I realized Momma’s sable coat was missing. I knew I had been wearing it when I fell asleep. I opened the black steamer trunk again. After I’d rifled through layers of oddities, no coat materialized. So I opened the closet door and peeked into the rec room. Spotting the coffin, I decided to stay put. This was just too creepy. Surreal, sad and sickening. Oh my God, Momma is in Saint Christopher’s Mental Hospital! I have to get her out. And if she really had been committed to the nut house, she would still be there because she didn’t escape and murder Daddy, because he wasn’t murdered. I couldn’t believe that Perry tossed his own mother into a mental institution. Well, okay, so his real mother was the slightly famous movie actress from the forties and fifties, Vera Blandings, but my mother had raised him lovingly as her own. She worked so hard, trying to do right by that boy. No, Momma hadn’t played opposite Cary Grant in a Hitchcock flick, like Vera Blandings had, but she was a darned good woman. Wait a minute, I shouldn’t be so hard on Perry. He was an orphan now. His mother Vera had been murdered when he was just a teenager and now our daddy had passed on too. Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight in his grief and that’s why he accused Momma of murder. But that was no excuse for putting Momma away. And what was that stupid story of his, what happened on Thursday, when Daddy called me and said Momma was trying to kill him? Something about a bent cane. And then, four days later, I found Daddy pinned underneath a deep freezer. His deep freezer. And it wasn’t that big. Just about four feet all ways, tall, wide and deep. A small chest-type freezer. Heavy though. It had a brown paneling finish, to match the paneled basement. Daddy had it plugged in at the end of the hallway. He was always putting food in there while Momma slept, telling me that she had the Alzheimer’s disease, buying too much. She didn’t have Alzheimer’s. She just never accepted that her nest was empty. She always bought enough to feed a family of five. If anyone had a mental problem, it was Daddy. I strongly suspected he was a pathological liar. I looked up the definition once. It was a synonym for sociopath. Calling him a liar to myself was one thing. I would never believe my father was a sociopath though. That word was frightening. Every time I came to visit, he’d always call me downstairs and try to load me up with bags of frozen lettuce, shredded cheese and meat that was three years past the “best if used by” date. Frozen lettuce. The salad bowl incident. What a nightmare. Momma had taken her annual Palm Springs spa trip. She’d been treating herself to this yearly respite the same week every year for as long as I could remember. The first week in August. The day after she returned, I received a frantic call from Daddy. Asking me if I had the salad bowl. Momma accused Daddy of giving away her things to his girlfriend while she was gone. Nonagenarian Daddy had a girlfriend? What was Momma thinking? And what was the girlfriend thinking if she in fact existed? Momma threw him out, had the locks changed and burned his Army discharge papers, his medical license and his autographed photo of Marilyn Monroe. Perry took him in for a night and then dumped Daddy on my front stoop. Daddy followed me around, crying and telling horribly twisted secrets of Momma’s past, which I didn’t want to hear and didn’t believe. Blackmail, booze, espionage, counterfeiting, crimes against nature, you name it. He was un-shut-up-able. I couldn’t stand the unrelenting emotional devastation he forced upon me. Trying once again to manipulate me into doing whatever master scheme he had in mind. I stuck him on a plane to California, where some of his people lived. And I felt immediate guilt. He was my father after all. I was duty-bound to love him no matter what. I kept thinking that if I loved him long enough, hard enough, he would someday realize that I was a good girl and be proud of me and love me the way he doted on Tammy and Perry. Why didn’t Daddy love me? He made the rounds of his siblings in California. His youngest brother Howard finally had enough and flew Daddy back home. Momma let him back in. But wouldn’t give him a key. I heard music. The melody of Dean Martin’s sixties hit “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime”. Yeah, I guess they did. But why in the world did Chloe Lambert marry Dr. Nathan Payne? They bickered my whole life. Had separate bedrooms too. I never witnessed them kissing, not once. And how come they would never reveal the exact year they got married? I knew their anniversary was February twenty-ninth but what year? Leap day… And why did they adopt Tammy? I was still a baby when they brought Tammy into our home. She was only fourteen months older than me. What, were they disappointed in me? The music was getting louder. And why did Tammy and Perry get everything they asked for, the never-grateful children that they were? And then there was me, their only biological child together. Or wasn’t I? If I were to believe any of Daddy’s salacious whispers, Momma had had affairs with Poppa San at the Chinese restaurant, the entire gang of Frank Sinatra’s “Rat Pack”, including Sammy Davis Jr., the “Negro” as Daddy called him, and even President John F. Kennedy when she was working in the White House. And lest I forget his latest mind game, telling me Momma wasn’t my real mother. As if I could be the natural daughter of a movie star who had died before I was born. Probably Daddy’s lifelong fascination with Marilyn Monroe had taken over his final moments… No, he was just trying to play one last trick on me. I ran my fingers over my face then shook my head. Daddy loved telling stories about when he met Marilyn. His first wife Vera had been cast together with her in a movie. Bus Stop? No, maybe it was How To Marry a Millionaire? Hey, perhaps I was JFK and MM’s love child. That’s why I never even received a pittance, I would be coming into my inheritance one of these days. I giggled. Oh it felt good to laugh, punch-drunk on emotion. ~♥~The music was different now. Dooley Wilson’s song “As Time Goes By” from the forties movie Casablanca. Where was it coming from? I stumbled around the corner and under the stairs. I felt the wind picking up. Sucking me in. All I could see was a beautiful shade of green. Dark Georgetown green, nearly black. The irresistible forward momentum propelled me into a tunnel. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was walking up a wooden ramp with handrails on both sides. I tugged open a door and stepped inside a huge closet full of canned tuna, onions, potatoes, flour, sugar and Maxwell House coffee. A pantry. I opened another door. That fella from my dream was seated at a butcher-block counter. I was so happy to see him again. This was the first time I dreamed about the same thing twice. Talk about a dream lover. Perhaps I’d get a chance to kiss him in this one. I said, “Hey you, come over here and step right into my dream again.” Grinning, my soul mate hopped off the wooden stool and buttoned his crisp black tuxedo jacket. “I’ve been waiting for you, Cinderella.” My stomach growled. I scanned the huge industrial kitchen. Uniformed cooks, waiters and waitresses—or were they butlers and maids?—bustled around. The place really sizzled. And it smelled heavenly. I closed my eyes and sniffed roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans with bacon and baked Alaska. All right, so baked Alaska had no real aroma, it was just ice cream covered in meringue, but hey, it was my dream. “Come on, love, let’s check your coat.” “Huh?” I glanced down at the sable coat I was wearing. Good, it turned up. Momma would kill me if I lost her coat. He grasped my arm and escorted me outside. A vivid full moon illuminated the night. Shimmering stars mesmerized me. We strolled on a massive brick driveway and into the porticoed entrance of the White House. Cars dropped people at the steps. A line formed as invitations were verified. He scooted me around the queue. The invitation checkers nodded to my mate. We sauntered right past them all. Oh the marble…the grand staircase…the chandeliers. Just like I’d imagined. We meandered to the cloakroom. Dream boy unbuttoned my coat. Hey, naked at the White House? What the heck, this was my dream. Our eyes locked as his long fingers tenderly undid each button. I shivered as he softly brushed my bare shoulders while removing the frock. He handed it to the coat check girl. My soul mate leaned down and whispered, “Breathtaking, Donna.” I squeezed my eyes shut and then open, before nervously checking to see if I was wearing anything. I heaved a sigh of relief upon the sight of my powder blue taffeta ball gown. Strapless, low-necked and cinched nicely at the waist and then full and sassy to the floor. I kicked out one foot to see a sparkly silver pump. I kicked the other foot out. Good, two shoes, both had heels and they matched. He presented me with a corsage, white baby roses around a small blue carnation. I allowed him to pin it on me. He smelled really good. Soap. I heard his breathing deepen as he slid one finger inside my cleavage in order to fasten the big teardrop-shaped pearl-headed pin. I exhaled. He smiled and offered his arm. We traipsed into the gala dining room. Waiters scurried about, fussing with place settings and floral arrangements. “Hungry, love?” my mate whispered in my ear. “Sure. Got any hamburgers?” “Not tonight. Do you like shrimp?” “Yes, I adore shrimp.” He grabbed a silver serving tray from a young African American waitress. She said, “Agent, these are for the guests.” “Katherine, I’m escorting Miss Donna tonight and she needs nourishment.” Katherine looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Miss Donna. He’s always snatchin’ goodies. Would you be wantin’ some champagne to wash them down with? How about a tray of cheeses and crackers too?” “No crackers, I’m on a low-carb diet.” “What’s a low-carb diet?” Katherine asked. My mate said, “She eats meat.” Sure I ate meat. Wouldn’t mind eating some of his right now. I blushed. Katherine’s eyes bulged. “I’ll be back with some drinks and cheeses. Why don’t you all make yourselves comfy up in the second-floor gathering area?” My mate laughed and watched the pretty girl walk away. I felt a ping of jealousy. He had said he was my mate. Did that mean literally man-woman mating or did I misinterpret and he meant mate as in friend, pal? He carried the tray of jumbo shrimp and escorted me to the elevator. We nibbled while being transported to the second floor. “Katherine-the-maid called you Agent. Are you?” “Yes.” “What kind of agent? Secret agent, IRS agent, ticket agent, real estate agent, talent agent or literary agent?” Dream boy shoved a big chilled shrimp between my lips and said in an oh-so-sexy whisper, “Secret agent, at your service, sweetheart.” Gosh, that whisper sent down shivers down my spine. He brushed the hair back from my ear first and I nearly squealed in anticipation of his lips touching my skin. The elevator doors opened to an informal gathering area, with a big Palladian window at the end of a hallway. “The family living quarters are right through that door.” He gestured with his hand. He had long, strong fingers. No rings. No telltale tan line either. Good. “Oh we should go.” I turned to get back on the elevator but the doors had shut. I tried to find a button to push. “Relax, it’s okay, I work here.” “But…” I couldn’t think of any reason why we needed to leave, even though I felt like there should be one. I followed my mate over to an oval mahogany coffee table, where he placed the tray. He motioned for me to sit on a red velvet sofa. I did. He switched on a large radio and tuned in a station. The host announced the next song, “Technicolor Dreams” by the Hugh Gibb orchestra. Dream boy reached for my hand. I stood and he led me out to the center of the hallway. He slid one hand around my waist and squeezed my hand with his other one. We floated around to the movie musical song. I felt like Ginger Rogers in one of those nineteen-forties movies. I loved dancing and somehow tonight I seemed proficient at it. He was an amazing partner. I couldn’t help giggling when he dipped me. The song ended. Dream boy kept swaying as the station break came on. He asked, “Where have you been all my life?” Yes, it was just a clichéd pick-up line like in the movies. But he made it sound so real. I couldn’t think of anything to say in response. I focused on his full lips. They inched down closer to mine. Closer… Shoot. I felt eyes watching me. Katherine cleared her throat. “Cheeses without crackers, deviled eggs and a popped bottle of champagne are on the table.” She handed us each a bubbly-filled glass. “It taste like duck water but they don’t give Miz Stoneburner a good ’nuff budget. Call the kitchen if you be needin’ another bottle.” My man told her, “Thanks, doll.” Katherine departed in the elevator. He smiled at me and raised his glass. “May our dreams always be in Technicolor.” We clinked glasses and intertwined our arms. As I brought the goblet to my lips in slow motion, a red rubber playground ball knocked it out of my hand. He said, “Play dead! I’ll be right back. Don’t you move now.” I dropped to the floor, curled into the fetal position and covered my head. People scurried around, red balls flying. I peeked to see Vera Blandings run past me, propelling a rolling desk chair with a top hat on the seat. The hat appeared to be full of eggs. Vera Blandings? Daddy’s first wife, Perry’s biological momma and Cary Grant’s co-star in Hitchcock’s classic Mother May I? Why was I dreaming about her? I stayed as still as I could but I developed a cramp in my foot and had to take off one shoe. I glanced around, everything appeared to have calmed down and I was alone. I shook my foot like a dog. “All clear. The drill was successful.” My secret agent man knelt down and grasped my stockinged foot. He drew both of his thumbs up and down the middle bottom. It felt so good it was amazing I didn’t come. He read my face and appeared very pleased with himself. “There, does that feel better?” “Yes…” I cooed. As he slipped my sparkly silver shoe back on, I noticed the opaque stockings. I screwed my face up. They weren’t sexy and didn’t fit so well. Tight at the ankles. And I didn’t have thick ankles. “What’s wrong, love?” “The stockings. I don’t like ’em. How come they aren’t silk or even nylon?” “Nylon? They don’t make ’em anymore. All nylon is being sewn into parachutes for the war.” Oh right, I was dreaming in the forties, World War Two and all that stuff. My mate helped me up. “Did you say something about a drill?” “Yes, all White House employees practice evacuating the President in case of attack. There have been recent credible threats… Um, I won’t elaborate.” “Did I just see Vera Blandings, the movie star, run through here pushing a hat full of eggs on a rolling chair?” “Probably. Movie star? No. Vera is presently President Roosevelt’s personal secretary.” “But she’s my daddy’s first wife. And my half-brother Perry’s mother.” “Not at this moment in time.” Dream boy popped a deviled egg in his mouth. “Sit down. Eat.” I did. The cheese tray was beautifully arranged. Waffle-cut cheddar, small discs of Gouda and tiny triangles of Swiss. The White House, the food, this great guy… This dream really couldn’t get much better. I was having more fun than I ever remembered in my real life. I dipped a shrimp in cocktail sauce and devoured it. I washed it down with champagne. “President Roosevelt? Oh of course, that makes sense now. The hat with the eggs in it represents the President, she has to be careful that it doesn’t fall off and he doesn’t get hurt. And the chair is because of his polio.” He nodded to my cleavage. Normally I’d be mock offended but after all, this was my mate. Dream boy kept topping up my champagne. “You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?” He drained the last drop from the bottle and licked the green glass rim provocatively. “I assure you, Cinderella, my intentions are honorable.” “Drat.” We both laughed. I set my ever-filled glass on the coffee table. I cocked my head, smiled at him and asked, “What’s your name?” He looked as though he was trying to suppress a grin. The resulting expression was adorable. “Well?” “I told you, I’m your soul mate.” I hiccupped and patted my lips. I really was in no shape for metaphysical discussions. “Yeah, I know. My soul mate across history. Whatever that is. Let’s just keep it simple to begin with, handsome. So come on now, what is my soul mate’s name?” “Jones.” “Well, Mr. Jones, I am very pleased to meet you. Now what’s your first name?” “I’m not at liberty to reveal it…at this point in time, love.” I laughed and shook my head. As I exhaled, I sighed. “Okay, I’ll play along. Jones is a fine, strong name. My roommate’s name is Jones.” “Is it now?” he grimaced. I nodded. “I take that as a very good sign that we will get along famously, you and I. Why are you suddenly sullen? My roommate is a woman, Ashley Jones. I’m not living with a man, for heaven’s sake. As a matter of fact we haven’t even met face-to-face yet, we have different schedules.” “No, love, I am not jealous of your roommate. It’s just… We need to enjoy every moment we have together.” “So smile.” He did. I stood up. “Leaving so soon, love?” “Huh? Oh no, I don’t want to leave. Not at all. Just need to use the necessary room.” “The closest toilet is through that doorway and make a left.” He pointed to where he’d told me the private family living quarters were. “I can’t go in there.” “Sure you can, love. Follow me.”
And so I did. U.S. eBook: iTunes  ARe  Kindle Kobo  Nook  SmashwordsU.S. Paperback: Amazon  Barnes and Noble  CreateSpace  Books A Million
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Chick Lit Mystery

5.0 out of 5 stars  A Hilarious Romp  --Diane Scott Lewis"If you enjoy quirky characters and unpredictable plots, you'll love this book. Sandra Faire joins a writers conference on a train to get her "crappy" life in order and pursue her dream of being a cozy mystery author. But nothing goes as she hopes, including her run-in with the most inappropriate man, a hunk of a detective she calls Lt. Hottie. Plus, her meddlesome mother barges in on the journey to make matters more complicated. People end up dead and Sandra scrambles to uncover the truth in her own calamity of a mystery. Sandra is the hapless everywoman with a lousy job and a non-existent love-life. Suspend belief and join her on this madcap romp as she weaves her way through one mishap after another. And this all starts with her finding a body on the beach. Extremely funny." INAPPROPRIATE BY SHERRY SILVER
Story Summary:Sandra is attending a writers conference aboard private rail cars. It was organized by the wife of a popular televangelist. The writers are traveling alongside devout Christians on their cross-country crusade. Sandra's loving but hyper-critical mother has finagled a ticket to ride. The morning before departure, Sandra finds a dead sailor on the beach. On the train, Sandra must keep her lips off Lieutenant Hottie and unmask the murderer before another soul derails. All aboard!
Excerpt from Chapter Three:I retreated to the corridor and checked the lighted sign above the door. Compartment A. And that sure did look like my suitcase and cooler.I reentered the room, leaned down and tugged my duffle bag out. Yep, Sandra Faire was clearly written in blue gel pen on the luggage tag.The bathroom door opened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was using the bathroom in my compartment,” I said, blushing.A beautiful little woman…and I mean little…the shortest little person I’d ever met stuck her dark-chocolate hand out. “Hello, I am Mary Agnes Starr. You must be my roommate, Sandra Faire. Jesus loves you,” she said in a sweet southern accent.“Yes he does. Thank you. And Jesus loves you, too.” Mini Mary Agnes wanted to shake. I kept eyeing the bathroom and the sink near the door. I didn’t want to shake until she had washed her hands so I tugged the cooler out and then opened the lid. “I brought iced teas. You want one? Go ahead and wash up. There is a little bar of soap and a fluffy hand towel on the sink. I’ll make us drinks.” “Caffeine is blood from the devil,” said Mary Agnes as she climbed into the chair. Her fluffy cloud-white dress could have fit one of those Just My Size Barbie dolls. She was very small boned and thin. Like a living breathing doll. The eyelet lace billowed over my cooler. She swept the angelic fabric aside. I replaced the lid on the cooler. “I should empty this water in the sink and find some fresh ice.”“Close the compartment door,” her voice cracked.“Why?”  I asked, creeped out. I wanted to run. We would just see about this. No way would I share a compartment with a complete stranger with poor personal hygiene. There must have been some mix-up. Dina and I had signed-up to room together. We were going to brainstorm three novels for each of us as we drifted off to sleep lulled by the rocking of the locomotive.“Close it,” Mary Agnes whispered with an air of desperation.I did. But I made sure not to clasp the latch and opened the gold silk drapes on the corridor window fastening them to the wall with Velcro.As I turned toward the frightened woman, I asked, “What’s wrong?”“Mobsters are here! I spilled my purse in the parking lot and my marbles rolled under the tire of a red limousine.” Mary Agnes wrung her hands. “I was crouching down to retrieve them…and I heard their plans.”She’d lost her marbles all right. “I heard this one muscle-headed guy say, “We’ll take care of Donaldson…”“What makes you think there is anything sinister in that?”“Because as I quietly dropped my marbles back into my purse a bunch of receipts and candy wrappers rattled. They jumped out of the car and the muscle guy pointed a gun at me and growled something like, “You didn’t hear anything, girlie.”“This is a scene in your W-I-P, isn’t it?”  I grinned.“What?” Mary Agnes asked.“You’re a writer. Your work-in-progress. The book you are writing.”“Miss Faire, I am no purveyor of fiction. I read only of the scriptures. I am on a mission from God to save your heathen soul.”I felt faint. My vacant stomach wailed. “I have to eat. Now. Low blood sugar.” Lord Jesus, save me from this kooky missionary. Amen.I exited the compartment and dashed down the aisle not stopping until I entered the Victorian parlor car where my chapter mates were noshing. It contained four oxblood leather arm chairs flanking two small tables and a round stuffed sofa at the end. The kind I had seen in hotels. The peach paisley upholstered center was solid and you could walk around it and sit anywhere and lean back on the coordinating peach chenille cushions. Windows on three sides offered panoramic vistas. I noticed the emergency brake and a fire extinguisher clearly labeled on the wall near the door. I peeked outside and saw a sheltered observation deck. Rain poured down beyond it. This was the last length of the locomotive. Nothing but tracks behind us.In time with the cadence of the train I walked to a credenza near the restroom and grabbed a plate. Unfortunately, the other writers had scarfed nearly all of the hors d’oeuvres. A small amount of pâté and caviar remained. No crackers. I had an aversion to liver and fish eggs. I sagged in grave disappointment. I would have thrown up from malnourishment had I anything in me to actually come up.“Captain Sparrow, bring me my rum!” I snapped my head around to see Peetie-the-Parrotperched on Pat-the-Pirate’s shoulder. She always brought him to our meetings. He was a Solomon Island Eclectus, a medium sized parrot. Lime green with red and turquoise under his wings. All males of his species looked like this. The females were red with purple and turquoise. His beak looked exactly like candy corn. Boy would I love to jump inside a giant bag of candy corn and eat my way out. My tummy screeched.I made myself a cup of hot tea and plunked in four sugar cubes. I took two in a napkin to munch on.I weaved through the crowd, looking forward to chatting with Pat and Peetie but Contest Carly was petting the parrot by the time I got near them.Carly, a tatooed late twenty-something Philippine-American award winning unpublished author, was coming close to snatching Rosemary’s contest-slut tiara. Neither was published but at least Carly’s three novel length manuscripts were complete. Rosemary had only penned one chapter which she had paid a high priced New York editor to critique. I resented her gall, entering professionally edited work in contests for unpublished authors.  I noticed Dina pacing by the back door. I couldn’t wait to switch rooms with whomever they had erroneously paired her with.Sniffling approached. My shoulders hunched, I wished myself invisible. Harry Potter could do that with his invisible cloak. He could also cast spells. Boy would I enjoy casting a few. I popped a sugar cube in my mouth and sucked.“Do you know Hazel just received an eight digit contract with Fathom Publishing?”  Weepy Wendy asked me.“That’s wonderful.” I half turned to her, smiled and made my way over to Dina. Wendy followed me. I tried not to groan.“It's just not fair. The top writers get all the money. I’ll never be discovered.”This was my cue to hug poor pitiful Wendy. Instead, I said, “You’ll do it, Wendy. It's your turn next. You are a very brilliant author. Just wait…and as a matter of fact since Hazel is here on the train what a golden opportunity…”“What do you mean?”  She sounded timidly hopeful.“Stick to her like glue. Study what Hazel does. Her methods. When does she write? What inspires her? What does she do to stimulate her muse? Trail her. Stick by her side.”“You really think that might help?”“Absolutely,” said Dina. “Now don’t waste a minute. Why, I’ll bet you’ll learn her secret! Don’t forget to keep it to yourself…until you’re bumping Hazel off the bestseller list!”Wendy smiled for the first time in my memory. She trotted over to Hack ‘Em Up Hazel, who was slurping an oyster out of its shell.“Dina, I’ve got to get something substantial in my stomach. Somebody has to have something edible on this train. Follow me.”She did.We headed north past our compartments and crossed the threshold into the business car. “I have the roommate from Hell. We have to switch,”I whispered over my shoulder.“Mine seems delightful. A lovely little old lady called Norah. She’s napping.”I grunted. “Must be nice.”  I was so tired.“Are you jealous of Hazel?” Dina asked.“Nope. She’s a very sweet lady. And talented, hard working and I hope she enjoys every penny they’ll give her. I just love how she writes her guys. It's almost like she has secret inside information on how the male psyche operates.”After we dodged the rolling chairs in the conference room we made it to the dining car. It had been prepped for breakfast with little boxes of cereal perched on each table.I plopped down in a booth, grabbed a box of Special K, ripped it open and gobbled it  using my fingers. I washed it down with the tea. “My mom asked about your Aunt. How is she?”  I inquired.“Working me day and night. I’m so glad her friend Marvin is moving in to help her while I’m away.”  An evil smirk morphed onto Dina’s face. “He has no idea what he’s getting himself into. If you ever have to have surgery for carpal tunnel syndrome do not have both wrists repaired at the same time.”“Why not?”“Because she’s absolutely helpless with both hands and arms bandaged. She can’t get the dressings wet and she’s in a lot of pain. I have to wax her moustache, shave her pits and wipe her nether regions.”My brother the conductor appeared. “The cereal is for tomorrow.”“I’m starving. What did you eat?”  I asked.“The crew had pizza.”“Is there any left?”  I devoured it in my mind.He shook his head. “Sorry. Hey, I’ll bet Mom brought snacks. She’s two cars ahead. Walk through the baggage car and then she’s in the next sleeper car, Compartment H.”“Thanks!”  I was halfway down the aisle before Dina caught up with me.“Don’t get so far ahead. Do you think we should tell your brother about the red limousine?”I stopped and whipped around. “You saw the limo, too?”“Yeah. And those guys looked sinister. They were yelling at a midget.”“Little person. Midget is an insult. Jeeze, Dina, don’t you know anything about being politically correct?”“Whatever. How do you know about the midget?”“She’s my roommate, Mini Mary Agnes. She is really upset. Said they threatened Donaldson.”“The reverend or Rosemary?”  Dina asked.I shrugged my shoulders.“Let’s tell your brother.”“My brother since he’s the conductor or my brother since he’s a Cocoa Beach cop?”“Yes.”“I don’t know. I guess so. He’ll probably poo-poo it away.”We entered the baggage car and squeezed down the aisle cluttered with boxes of Biblesand crates of food. I crinkled my nose. This car smelled like a sour mop. I stopped and scanned the area but didn’t see a crow bar. It figured. I was standing in a refrigerated food Mecca yet couldn’t access even a crumb.  I scraped the side of my ankle on a crate of cantaloupes and groaned. Mom’s green steamer trunk was next to it near the door to the sleeper lounge car. We turned the doorknob, stepped through the vestibule, opened the opposing door and entered. This car appeared to be the mirror-reverse of ours. I heard Christian rock music accompanied by acoustic guitars. My stomach churned as my pulse raced…remembering. I wished every acoustic guitar in the world had washed away with the hurricane. The silver silk drapes were drawn open on all of the compartments. They were empty. I shoved Dina in front of me and reluctantly headed for the tunes.Joel Donaldson, the surly nineteen-year-old son of the reverend and Rosemary, played piano. His dad and Andres the lifeguard strummed guitars as Rosemary sang. Surprisingly, they sounded pretty good. Mom clapped to the rhythm. I caught her eye and cocked my head toward the door. She popped up and rushed us back to her compartment. I slid the door closed. The air conditioning drowned out the music. “Sandra Marie Faire, where have you been? Why didn’t you tell me you discovered another dead man? I forbid you to work at that job one more day. Do you hear me? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Did you lose it again? You had it this morning…”When her interrogation let up so I could get a word in edge wise, I said, “Rosemary confiscated all of our phones and electronic devices which contact the outside world.”“Why on earth would she do a thing like that? Will it disturb your reading? Have you been talking loudly on the phone again disrupting everyone around you? I’ve told you time and again. You don’t realize how loud you are speaking into the phone—““Mom, no. It's not me. I have no idea what gets into Rosemary’s craw with her rules but since she’s footing the bill we all complied with Her Highness.”“Wash your mouth out. Speaking of such a beautiful, good woman that way.”“Mom, do you have any food? I’m starving.”  She touched my chin and looked my face over. “Sandra, you really need to eat regularly. You are going to get constipated and that will lead to diverticulitis and heart disease.”“Mom, the food?”“Sit down. You too, Dina. Hello, by the way.”“Hi, Mrs. Faire.” Dina smiled and sat next to me on the royal blue velvet sofa. Mom flipped open a suitcase and placed a cloth napkin on each of our laps. Then a hard unbreakable white plate. She dealt low-carbohydrate pumpkin seed bread, lean turkey breast, Muenster cheese and romaine lettuce slices. Then she pulled out a baggie with balsamic vinaigrette and snipped the corner with her manicure scissors. She drizzled the dressing.I was already eating my top slice of bread before she finished.As we gobbled the sandwiches, she said, “Lieutenant Hernandez phoned me. He was unable to reach you and has further questions regarding the homicide.”I swallowed hard. “So the medical examiner has ruled it a homicide? Not an accidental drowning or suicide then?”“Yes. How could you run off and not tell the police where you were going?”I finished my sandwich and burped. Mom handed us each a bottle of water. I cracked the lid and guzzled half. “The police commissioner and four of his officers know my whereabouts. The lieutenant found me. No biggie.”“Sandra. That is such an immature, cavalier attitude. You are an adult. Act like one.” She took my napkin and wiped some dressing from my chin.I handed her my plate and she gave me a banana.Dina finished her sandwich and rinsed her plate in the sink. My mom took it and dried it with the white terry hand towel. “Did you get enough to eat? Would you like a piece of fruit? I have blueberries, oranges, apples and bananas. The bananas need to be eaten before they go soft. None of my kids will eat soft bananas. I always have to make banana nut bread with them.”  “You make the best banana nut bread, Mom.”  I wished I had some now.Dina looked at her watch and said, “It's after six! We’re late for our first workshop.”I stuffed my banana peel in the chrome trash slot under the sink. It pinched my finger. I kissed Mom’s cheek. “Thanks for the snack. Love you.”She kissed me back. “I love you, baby dumpling.”How embarrassing. She called all her kids baby dumpling. It was fine in private but it embarrassed me in front of Dina.Mom followed us to the baggage car. I needed to persuade her to return to the crusaders. She thought I was in a book readers club. She didn’t know this was a conference for writers. She would never approve. Not that she approved of much of anything I did anyhow.“Mom, we’ve gotta go. We’re late.”“I heard you. Hold on a minute.” She stopped at her steamer trunk and popped the lid open. “Pick a color. Both of you.”We looked at the sea of crayon colored wool. I selected a multicolored rainbow skein. Dina plucked out a shimmery black one. Mom handed us each a set of small wooden needles. “These should be perfect for the scarves. Let me know if you need more. Now I must go back to the crusaders. They are starting a rummy 500 tournament.”“Good luck, Mom. Have fun.” I hurried down the aisle. “Thanks for the food, Mrs. Faire…and the yarn and needles.”“Tootles, girls.”Dina whispered, “What’s with the yarn?”“I told Mom we were reading and knitting scarfs for the military.”“Why?”“Because she’d have a cow if she knew I was a writer.” I heard the door to Mom’s car open as we entered the conference car. I exhaled.I quietly slipped into the first available seat at the table and plunked my yarn and needles into my lap.The end of Dina’s yarn had snagged the door latch and pulled her back. She stumbled. Everyone looked. “I’m fine. It's nothing. Go on.”I trotted back and untangled her. We took our places at the conference table. The writers passed us the handouts and I found the spot the speaker expanded on.Anna Deerstalker said, “Exterior conflict can be as simple as a husband lamenting, ‘Cereal again?’ This could set his long-maligned wife off on a murderous rampage.”I glanced around the table. Everyone was taking notes. Including Hack ‘Em Up Hazel. This made me very curious. Why would a bestselling author need pointers in conflict? Odd indeed. I feigned a sneeze and tossed my pencil down the table. It landed on Hazel’s notes.“God bless you,” said Weepy Wendy and Contest Carly.“Gesundheit,” said Pat-the-Pirate.I thanked them, begged their pardons and walked over to retrieve my pencil. Hazel flipped her notes over before I could read them. Drats. I returned to my seat.Anna Deerstalker droned on, “There is also internal conflict in the cereal example. The husband knows he shouldn’t eat the sugar laden carbohydrates but he has a powerful sweet tooth…” I doodled little moons and stars on my conflict worksheet. The cadence of the train rocked my body. My eyes glazed over. I tried to focus on the conflict—I really did but all I could think about was evicting the mini-missionary, stretching out in my bunk and sleeping soundly all night. The train blasted its whistle through a grade crossing. The engineer really laid on the horn as he applied the brakes. My eyes flew open. Anna Deerstalker asked, “Who would like to share her conflict diagram with us?”I must’ve dozed off. I hoped I hadn’t snored. Please don’t pick me.Bicep Betty stood. Her gnarled hands gripped the table for support. “Midge would be rid of her poor excuse for a husband before the night was through. She held him at gunpoint with a shotgun, forcing him to lie naked face down on the floor where she had broken a case of wine bottles and tied him spread eagle between the radiator and the coffee table…”I shook my head and cringed. I didn’t want to hear the rest. Make her stop. All of her stories unfolded like this. She didn’t need help with conflict. She needed help with her twisted mind.Dina worked on the tangle of black yarn, rolling it into a ball. I removed mine from my lap, fished out the end from the inside of the skein and circled the yarn into a precise tight little sphere. I loved the colors. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple. Just like the rainbow. I tuned Bicep Betty out.Rosemaryrushed in. “So sorry, ladies. I’m wearing two hats on this retreat. The crusaders insisted I sing for them.”  She took a seat at the end of the table.Tabloid Tilly read her conflict next. My ears perked up until I didn’t hear any juicy celebutaunt gossip. She finished quickly. Fine by me.Anna Deerstalker asked for questions. Nobody had any. Rosemary thanked her profusely for her time and wonderful information. The ladies and I applauded. My yarn ball rolled off of my lap. I set the skein on the table and chased after it. Unfortunately, it had wrapped around the shoe on Pat-the-Pirate’s wooden leg as she tried to rise. She tripped onto the floral carpet.“I’m so sorry, Pat! Are you all right?”Contest Carly and Weepy Wendyhelped her into a chair. I extracted the yarn and she pulled her black polyester pant leg up, adjusting her wooden leg. Yep, it really was wooden. Pat- the-Pirate indeed. No, that wasn’t nice. She was a lovely lady. Poor thing. Life wasn’t fair.I skulked back to my seat re-rolling the ball as I went. The skein fell to the floor. I gave it a good yank to hoist it up. A metal ball chain slithered out of the end. What in the heck? I flopped it onto the table and extracted dog tags. Dog tags?
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