Sherry Morris's Blog, page 33

Fully Involved Fire

 Doesn't the cover model look like Brandon Barash aka Johnny Zaccara on General Hosiptal?
Available at Amazon   Createspace   Kindle   Nook   Smashwords
Fully Involved Fireby Sherry Silver
Have a tall drink of water handy to put out the fire when you read Fully Involved Fire, a poignant story of the after effects of September 11th.

Johnny Newman is one of New York City's finest; the Fire Department's most eligible bachelor. He's been in love with his best friend's widow for years. Johnny feels he has given her enough time to get over Brandon, but will his playboy reputation ruin his chances?

Susan Cervini is caught up in trying to locate a missing cousin through a website for an aging pop star. When Susan begins to have irrational feelings for her best friend, Johnny, she is afraid she will ruin their friendship, but she can't seem to stop feeling an overpowering need for his touch. Can they have a torrid affair and go back to being friends, or will the feelings they have for each other change Susan's mind about love and marriage again?

Johnny Newman is a real American hero; strong in his beliefs, dedicated to helping others, and loyal to the woman he loves above all others. He is sexy but unaware of his appeal, chivalrous without being conscious of it, and a wonderful friend; the way he unselfishly dedicates himself to Susan's needs. She is a very caring woman who is afraid of losing again. Her restoration of faith was a long and hard journey but was well worth the wait. Her love for Johnny is a beautiful thing to behold, culminating in a climactic coming together. 
Available at Amazon   Createspace   Kindle   Nook   Smashwords

New Cover

The Immaculate DeceptionBy Sherry SilverFREE on Kindle until March 6, 2012
Excerpt: Reston, Virginia
On a gusty July Thursday, my telephone reverberated to the tune of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas". I shuddered because I knew who was calling. I had set that distinctive ring tone to my father's number. I was screening his calls because he always had something vile to say about my mother and I had listened to too many of his outrageous lies. My stomach churned while I waited for him to hang up after the fourth ring like he always did when the automatic answering machine kicked on. I held my breath, hearing with relief the click of the machine.
The robotic voice said, "Hello, no one is able to come to the phone. Please leave your message after the tone."
When I heard the beep, I swallowed the big wad that clogged my throat.
"Oh-Donna, she's trying to kill me!"
I ran to the portable handset and punched the talk button. "Dad! Daddy! Who's trying to kill you?"
In a strained breathless whisper, he said, "Your mother."
"What? When?"
"Right now!" he whimpered.
I overheard Momma's voice in the background. "Nobody's going to care about you. You damned old fool!"
After a dull thud, the line went dead.
Oh my God. I detected my breath echoing out in audible pants. I couldn't believe this. What was I supposed to do? Call the police on my own mother? Not an option. No way! I shook my head. This was just too bizarre to wrap my mind around. Momma was a good girl through and through. She might get furious with Daddy once in a while but she'd never ever hurt him. But what if she was really trying to kill him? Lord knows, he'd manipulated, stifled and belittled her for decades. Had he finally done something so dastardly to drive her across the line of sanity? Or perhaps he'd just pulled another one of his everyday mind games and Momma just reached her breaking point? What if she really was trying to kill him? Think, Donna, think! The Meddlesteins! Yes! I would call the Meddlesteins.
Pressing the end button on my phone, I automatically plucked the number of Gloria and Roderick Meddlestein from the cobwebs of my childhood. They'd been my parents' across-the-street neighbors for more than thirty years. When I was little, I could always count on them to help me when I was home alone and needed an adult to relight the furnace or check out a strange noise that had me frightened. They were such good people. I prayed they hadn't changed their number. I felt a flush of heat rise up and envelop my body as I dialed with trembling fingers, agonizing in the seemingly slow motion.
Gloria Meddlestein answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Mrs. Meddlestein?" My voice sounded unnaturally shrill.
"Yes."
"This is Donna Payne. You know, I used to live across the street from you?"
She cheerfully said, "Yes, of course. Hello, Donna, how are you, dear?"
"Listen, I just received a phone call from my father. He said my mother was trying to kill him." I faked a laugh. "Will you please go over and check on him?"
Without much of a pause, she said, "I'll send Roddy over. You want to give me your number so I can call you back?"
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Meddlestein."
I gave my phone number and ended the call.
My mind was racing. Tammy works close by, she can zip over and talk some sense into those two. She is their favorite kid and has them wrapped around her pretty little finger. What is the name of that gym where she works? I frantically punched in the numbers of the telephone directory. A prerecorded voice told me to state the party's name and city.
"Rocky's Gym, Washington, DC."
I waited and waited.
Finally a live person came on the line. "Ma'am, we only retrieve Virginia numbers. You have to hang up and dial one, two–oh–two, five–five–five, one–two–one–two."
Shoot! I ended the call and tried again. Tears streamed down my face. Big almond-sized drops. This time a computer-generated voice revealed the phone number for the gym.
The surly employee who had answered the phone at Rocky's Gym had deserted me in the purgatory of hold. Five minutes passed as I waited on the telephone line for my forty-three-year-old adopted sister Tammy, personal trainer to the Capitol Hill pork barrels, all those congressmen, senators, lawyers and lobbyists who thought they ruled the universe. Come on, come on already. Tammy, you're three minutes from their house. It might be a matter of life or—
I wouldn't let myself think the last word. My stomach churned and I tasted a burning sourness in my throat. This was taking too long. I punched the button to end the call and then pushed redial. Wedging the house phone in between my right ear and shoulder, I picked up my cell phone and dialed the Meddlesteins. The tiny blue phone on my left ear just rang and rang.
I couldn't stand this inactivity. I had to do something. I furiously wiped imaginary crumbs off my pistol gray granite countertops. Stomping into the utility room, I threw the damp rag in the empty laundry basket on top of the dryer. As I grabbed the broom and glanced around, I realized there wasn't anything to clean. I had sterilized the place last evening in preparation for my trip to the writers' conference in New York today. I didn't want to get killed in a plane crash and then be embarrassed at the mess I'd left. What impression would that leave behind? No, I was a good, clean girl. I shoved the broom back up into its holder and shut the door.
My neck and shoulder ached from squeezing the portable handset to my ear. Never realized how heavy my head was. I grabbed the house phone and erectly speed-walked into the hardwood foyer. I stumbled over my yellow backpack. Next to it, my pink overstuffed duffel bag leaned lopsidedly against the etched glass front door. A defiant beep pounded in my right ear. I ended the call to Tammy and slapped the phone down on the teacart, beside my purse and plane ticket to New York.
I closed the never-ending ringing of the Meddlesteins' call on my cell phone. Thunder cracked outside. The rain commenced its devilish needle pricking on the cedar shake roof of my end-unit townhouse. I folded the cell phone and clipped it onto the canvas belt on my sleeveless khaki shirtdress.
I shuffled into the powder room and yanked tissues out of the box to blow my nose on. Looking in the mirror, I tried touching up the black rings around my powder blue eyes but the mascara kept running through the tears. Blue eyes. How come I was the only one in my family with blue eyes? Momma's eyes were green. Daddy had brown eyes. Oh God, Daddy! What's going on between you two? I knelt on the floor, grabbed my curly blond hair back and lost my breakfast. Momma used to hold my hair back when I threw up. I remember when Tammy had her tonsils removed and was so sick afterward. Momma made me hold my sister's ebony black hair back. I thought it was so gross and mean at the time but now I knew she was teaching me compassion and nurturing. Eventually calming down, I cleaned myself up.
After strapping on the backpack, I slung my crocheted purse strap over my right shoulder, maneuvered the overstuffed duffel away from the front door and opened it. The wind gushed in. I flinched as I watched lightning strike the field behind the townhouses across from me on Spyglass Street. Heaving the bag over the threshold and onto my brown brick stoop, I propped it against my foot, shut the door and locked up. 
I pressed the automatic key twice and listened to the doors unlock on my black Chevy Suburban. As soon as I stepped out from under the portico, I was drenched. Running to the vehicle, I opened the rear cargo door and heaved in the duffel. Struggling to free myself from the backpack, I pulled one of those unthought-of muscles in my side. Grimacing and wincing, I stowed the luggage, slammed the cargo door and raced to the driver's side, climbing in as another bolt split the Bradford pear tree in my front yard. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I really loved that pear tree.
I started the engine, shifted into overdrive and accelerated through the narrow winding, private streets of my planned community. After switching the front and rear wipers on, I fumbled in my purse to make sure that I'd remembered my ticket. A paper cut cinched that mystery. I sucked on the index finger of my right hand as I stopped at the red light. I spun the dial to defrost while trying to see through the fogged-up windshield. Soaked and shivering, I slid the temperature lever to high. I switched on the seat warmer as I floored it through the intersection on Route Seven.
Darn it, Daddy. Why do you always have to pull one of your stunts just when my life is going so well? Am I not constitutionally entitled to "Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness"? And if Momma is trying to kill you, I can't say she wasn't provoked by all your years of manipulation. I don't have time to run over and referee. I'm going to miss my flight.
As furious as I was at him, I knew there were shuttles leaving for New York every hour. I'd just have to pay a fee and stand by for a later flight. Damn it, Daddy, you're costing me extra money and I'll miss early registration. I hated attending conferences without a name badge identifying me as one of the group. If I was late today, I wouldn't be able to get mine until tomorrow morning.
I tensed up even more as I approached the exit for the Dulles Toll Road. If I turned here, I might be able to make the next shuttle flight to New York. Or a few more miles down the road, I could squeeze onto the conveyer belt they called Route Sixty-Six, the road to the Nation's Capital, Washington, and the misery of my parents' house.
Before I had made up my mind, my cell phone rang out. I fumbled, unable to unhook it from my belt. I unlatched my seat belt and wrestled to get the phone loose.
Simultaneously, I heard a thud and then glass shattering. I shielded my face with my hands as a deer hurtled toward me. I felt the air bag inflating against me and the sharp stab of the antler piercing my right shoulder. I slammed on the brakes with both feet. The vehicle skidded to a lurching stop as the air bag deflated. Impaled on the deer, I was ejected out of the Chevy.
The buck and I bowled down a prickly embankment. The searing pain in my shoulder was alternately overwhelmed by the weight of the beast when he reigned on top. I felt the antler breaking loose from my shoulder just before my world somersaulted into darkness.
Hearing a thumping whir, I blinked my eyes open. I struggled, unable to move. Someone was holding me down. I focused on his thickly haired brown arms and then down to his blue latex-gloved hands.
"She's coming to."
I screamed. Screams of fright, frustration and burning agony. Screams that I couldn't hear.
"Calm down, Miss. You're gonna be all right. We're flying you to Fairfax Hospital. We should be landing momentarily. What's your name?" The man removed the oxygen mask from my face.
"Ohhh…"
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. You're really beat up. Can you tell me your name?"
"Ohhh…Donna."
 "Donna? Good. Do you know what today is?" Teardrops spilled. I didn't know. The rhythmic whoop of the helicopter distracted me.
"It's okay, sweetheart. You'll be just fine. The trauma team will take good care of you." He replaced the oxygen mask and wiped my tears with gauze.
The Immaculate Deception is FREE on Kindle until March 6, 2012

Winter Weeding

We've had a uniquely mild winter thus far in Virginia. An inch of snow twice. No ice storms. It's got me thinking about preventative gardening on the surprise warm days before spring.

Did you rake leaves last fall? If not, you'd better do it soon or the hibernating grass underneath will die. And that means weeds will take root.

Did you pull up your dead annuals after the frost? If not, clean up your beds now. It won't take long. Really.

Did you do a final weeding last fall? Me too. But my mister has pointed out the miserable little minions are emerging again. Already! I need to get on top of this before I have a big job to put off.

Did you prune last fall? Trim the shrubs? If not do it soon. Except on the flowering bushes, like Rhododendrons, lest you cut off all the potential spring blooms inadvertantly.

A little effort here and there now and you yard will be beautiful soon.

Writing News!

Thousand Dollar Pharaoh will launch March 7th at Eternal Press! I'll be participating in an author-reader chat at 2PM EST on the next day, March 8th, with them. Details later. I haven't figured it out yet.

I have a new cover for Inappropriate. The original was too romancey and since there are only two on-screen kisses, I decided the new cover would better reflect the genre. It's a funny murder mystery aboard a cross-country train where mystery writers and evangelists collide on the tracks.

Best news? Inappropriate is out in PRINT! You can order it from Amazon today (or get it on Kindle or other ebook formats at Smashwords). It will be available in print and ebook everywhere soon, it just takes time to filter to all of the bookstores and libraries that want to pick it up. The old cover was still showing on the print page at Amazon, but the one you'll get will have the train station cover that's shown on the Kindle edition. I do have ten books being delivered to me today with the original steamy cover. If you want one of those, contact me.
Old Cover for Inappropriate:
New Cover for Inappropriate:

All aboard!

Speed Cleaning Challenge

Speed Cleaning ChallengeBy Sherry Silver Hey, did you try my 10 minute cleaning method yet?

Just set a timer for ten minutes, dig in and clean one room until the timer beeps or you finish. I'll bet you can unload the dishwasher and reload it in ten minutes. I know you can clean your toilet and sink in ten minutes. And you can definitely dust around your knick knacks in ten minutes. See how much better your house looks just by vaccumming the middles of your rooms in ten minutes.

When is the last time you cleaned your home? What did you clean and how long did it take?

Washington in World War Two Mystery

Excerpt V From:  Hundred Dollar Bill by Sherry Morris
Now past midnight, across town in Anacostia, the mournful winter windharmonized horribly with the off-key singing from down the hall at the boarding house.Chloe lay shivering in cold water, unaware how much time had passed since she'ddrawn the bath. It was her desperate attempt to wash the evil away. Succumbing to theincessant pounding on the door, she whimpered, "Orpha, if you and Shirley don't stopthat wretched caterwauling I'll vacate the room."
Chloe stumbled out of the tub onto the cold pink and black floor. Lavender-scentedsuds slid down her legs and pooled on the flower-patterned tile.
"It's Mrs. Grogan dear. Did your special fella come through for ya tonight? I wantall the romantic details."
Shivering, Chloe leaned over and twisted a worn but bright white towel around herhair. She shoved her arms into an old terrycloth bathrobe, wincing as the rough fabricabraded her sensitive skin. She pulled the frayed belt tight.
Chloe jerked the chain on the tub stopper, releasing the dirty water. She stared atthe hundred dollar bill. Slither away and leave me alone. It didn't heed her will. Sheyanked the money out and wadded it up with all her might, then shoved it into thebottom of the wastebasket, underneath the bathroom discards.
"Chloe? Can ya hear me darlin'? Did he pop the question?" the landlady asked.Chloe knelt on the wet tiles, dunking her hands into the dwindling water andflattening them on the bottom of the tub. Water poured from her cuffs when she pulledthem back out. The cast iron drainpipe burped as the bathtub emptied.
Twisting the crystal knob, Chloe opened the door and gagged at the stench of burnteggnog. After switching the light off, she crossed the hall to her room.
Mrs. Grogan gasped at the sight of Chloe's legs and face. She followed Chloe in andshut the door. "Oh my God child! You were attacked! Or did…did he do this to ya? I'llgo and fetch Doc Morton. Or do ya need to go to the hospital?"
"No! Don't call anyone. You mustn't tell! Promise, Mrs. G?" Chloe pleaded, nearlyhysterical.
"Shh… Calm down, now just calm down darlin'. Ya know I'll do ya right." Thelandlady pulled Chloe to her bosom and stroked the towel on her hair. "There therenow. Everything will be all right."
"Ouch! You're hurting me."
Mrs. Grogan let go. "I'm so sorry, sweetness. Forgive—"
"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. G. I mean…"
"Shh-shh-shh. Hush child. " She tenderly ran a finger along Chloe's cheek. "I'll beback in a moment." The landlady waddled off with purpose.
Chloe located her big suitcase, wedged in the tiny closet. Determined to extract theluggage, she inhaled and heaved to the left. The suitcase dislodged, propelling a wirehanger with a pink cotton blouse. The hanger stung her chest. The blouse covered herface. She sneezed and dropped the suitcase as she grabbed her ribs. Dear God and Jesusin heaven. Please let me feel better. Please let me wake up in North Carolina. Forgive me of mysins. Amen.
She heard panting as Mrs. Grogan swept aside the makeup and curlers on thedresser and deposited an aluminum tray. A waffle-sized powder puff fell to the floor.Chloe held in another sneeze and picked up the suitcase. Mrs. Grogan bent down with agroan and plucked up the puff, tossing it onto the dresser. She tugged on the suitcasebut was unable to release it from Chloe's grip.
"Where do ya think you're going on such a treacherous night? Young lady, ya justput that thing away and get under the covers. Here's some warm eggnog and a coupleof chloral hydrate capsules to help ya sleep."
"No! I have to get out of here, now leave me alone! I've messed everything up.What don't you understand? I can't stay in Washington. I have to disappear before it'stoo late!"
"Why? Just call the Metropolitan Police on the beast!"
"No, you don't understand and…I…I can't explain it. I have to leave! Believe meand don't ask anything! Please?" How much time do I have before they find out? What willthey do to me?
With a look of uneasy puzzlement, Mrs. Grogan questioned, "But where will ya go?Back home to your Mam in Carolina? Do ya want me to call her for ya?"
Chloe dropped the suitcase onto the tapestry area rug, grabbed Mrs. Grogan'schubby arms and stared dead into her chocolate eyes. "I can never go back to NorthCarolina now. Not in this—oh, I've said too much! All right… You have to help me.Please, Mrs. G?"
Mrs. Grogan embraced her favorite tenant and affirmed, "I will help ya darlin'.Always. Now what is it that ya need?"
Chloe paced the room. As she passed by the wobbly-legged desk, she brushedagainst an old tin of pennies, knocking it over. They tinkled like a gentle metallicwaterfall puddling on the hardwood floor. The two women bumped heads as theysquatted to pick up the coins.
"Can you get my paycheck from the Bureau next Friday? And deposit it in mychecking account? I'll call in on Monday morning and tell them…oh, something!"
"How 'bout that your sister's baby has come early and ya have to go to Baltimore tohelp out with her older ones?"
Chloe's stomach felt like it jumped to her throat. She knew she had to keep up thecharade for Mrs. Grogan of having a sister. "No! Not that! I'll tell them my Mommatook ill and I have to go and look after her." Chloe reached the last two pennies andplunked them into the can.
Mrs. Grogan put a stubby finger on her fleshy cheek and began tapping. "Butwhere will ya go? To make a new beginning. Hollywood? New York? Iowa? No, notIowa…" Mrs. Grogan clambered to her feet. "I know! Miami Beach!"
"Miami Beach?"
"Yes darlin', of course Miami Beach. It's eighty degrees down there now don't yaknow. I'll call Paddy and let him know to expect ya. He's my late husband's cousin. Heowns a bakery, finest in southern Florida. He rents rooms out over top of the place. I'llmake sure he has a vacancy and if he doesn't, then he'll just have to make one."
Chloe sat cross-legged on the floor, adjusting her robe. "Don't you read thenewspaper, Mrs. G? The beach has been commandeered by the Army Air Corps fortheir boot camp. The hotels are being used as barracks, for heaven's sake." She rattledthe pennies, staring into the can.
Faint rays of sunshine broke through the vicious storm clouds in Chloe's mind.Miami Beach. Warmth, yes, oh to be warm again. Bakery, yum. But soldiers everywhere? Howdepressing. Wait…soldiers everywhere, about to be sent off to war…scared and lonely men.Chloe stretched to reach the desk and shoved the tin can on top. She pulled herselfup. "Yes! Mrs. Grogan, Miami Beach sounds…perfect."
The landlady plopped Chloe's suitcase up onto the bed. She grabbed an armload ofclothes from the closet and tossed them on the quilt. Removing the first dress from itshanger, she shook it out and rolled it into a tight cylinder. "Ya get less wrinkles this waydarlin'. I read it in a magazine don't ya know."
As Chloe touched up her bruised face with pancake and rouge, the AndrewsSisters' snappy song, "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy", drifted in from down the hall. Shecoughed while smacking a powder puff all over her forehead. None of this happened. Idon't exist. I'll just disappear into paradise and everything will be all right again. She turned toMrs. Grogan. "How do I look?"
"I shoulda married Max Factor. The man is a genius don't ya know. Ya'd neverguess what happened tonight. Don't forget your lipstick darlin', and you're goodenough to dance at the White House." She hung the empty hangers on the woodencloset rod. "I'll leave ya to dress, dear, and I'll go call ol' Paddy. And then, when he saysyes, I'll order ya a cab."
"The trains do run all night, don't they?"
"Yes darlin'. Now you get ready quick and be on your way."
When Mrs. Grogan stepped into the hallway, she hollered, "Girls, ya turn thatracket off. I don't care if ya don't have your nursing classes tomorrow. We have rules inthis house."
Chloe winced as she painted her scabbed lips a deep wine color. Her fingers gotcaught in a snarl as she combed through the carrot-colored strands of her hair. Satisfied,she packed her round makeup trunk.
Chloe emptied out her desk drawer, packing her birth and baptismal certificates,high school and college diplomas, pencils and a ruler. Hmm, the Mickeys might come inhandy… Chloe scooped up the chloral hydrate capsules, dropped them in an envelope,licked it shut and placed it on top of her rolled blue gingham dress. She stretched a sockover the can of pennies and sunk it into the bottom of her suitcase. Her hand trembledas she tossed in two pink envelopes, recent letters from her "sister".
As Chloe lay across the patchwork quilt on her twin bed, she was grateful thelandlady had left and wouldn't see the tears of pain as she struggled into her girdle. Shefinished dressing and then slipped her coat and gloves on. Chloe draped a beige cowlover her head and wrapped it around her neck.
She looked all over the space that had been her home for the last eleven months.The furnished room for let seemed emptier than when she had first moved in. Chloeplaced her key on the desk then turned off the light.
She tiptoed down the dark narrow hall to the kitchen. Big band music blared fromthe radio in the back room. The taxi driver announced his arrival by leaning on thehorn.
Mrs. Grogan pressed an envelope into her hand.
"Here's Paddy's address. He'll be a-waitin' for ya darlin'. He's good stock don't yaknow. He'll see that nobody harms ya there in paradise. Don't ya worry none, I'll takecare of your paycheck. If Paddy fusses 'bout the telephone then ya call me person-to-personevery week. And drop me some postcards. And if I ever get my hands on thebeast who did this to you…so help me…"
Teardrops spilled down Chloe's face as she hugged and kissed her landlady. Herfriend. She hurried to the cab, not allowing herself to look back. She was grateful shehad slipped out without having to explain her departure to the other girls.
Purchase Hundred Dollar Bill:Amazon    Kindle    Barnes and Noble    Nook    ARe

Excerpt IV From: Hundred Dollar Bill By Sherry Morris Ha...

Excerpt IV From: Hundred Dollar Bill By Sherry Morris


Half an hour later back at the White House, Eleanor Roosevelt emerged from theMonroe Room, startled to find her husband in the hallway.
He said, "Babs! Didn't see you come in. How was the hoop dee doo? Tell me, arethe older ladies supportive of my efforts?"
"Um…yes. Yes they are."
"So'd you get swept off your feet by some handsome Republican?"
"Naturally…a baker's dozen of 'em."
"Say, the Secret Service boys told me counterfeit money's been turning up in theDistrict, Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia."
"Oh? That's…alarming… I'm really tired."
"I'm on my way for a long hot soak. Care to join me?"
"Um…no, dear. I just want to get out of these shoes and get some shut-eye."
"So be it. Goodnight… I love you."
She leaned down. They kissed.
"And I love you."
As she turned away, he grabbed her arm. "Babs, what's that all along the hem ofyour dress?"
"Hunh?"
He seized the emerald taffeta near her waist and began hoisting it up. Eleanor'sgreen pumps were filthy. His gaze ran up her rayon stockings. They were tight at theankles and baggy at the knees. Franklin examined the bottom of her dress.
The first lady blushed as she looked over her shoulder. "Franklin! What if—""Cobwebs. Well I'll be. Rosie the Riveter must be older than I thought."Eleanor pulled away, smoothing the taffeta down. She gave him the evil eye.Franklin chuckled as she walked off. He followed his pup into the Monroe room.Looking around the sparse spotless room, he wondered what his wife had been up to.Fala sniffed the paneling along the fireplace wall. Mr. Roosevelt heard a voice in thecorridor.
"Sir? Sir? Where you are?"
Fala jumped into his lap. The President rolled into the hallway. "Ah, I was lookingfor you, good fellow. Come and draw my bath now. So tell me, Fuji, how is thatstunning creature you hoodwinked into matrimony?" Tired and aching, Mr. Rooseveltallowed his valet to push his wheelchair to the Presidential bedroom.
"Traveling again. But Mrs. Fuji did send special package you requested."
"Perfect timing, son."
Fala leapt from his master's lap to the chair at the foot of the bed. He circled twiceand kneaded his paws into the upholstery before curling up to sleep. As was their usualroutine, the President began undressing.
The valet stepped into the adjoining bathroom and turned the spigots on. Fujiadjusted the temperature and then told his boss, "Be right back," as he dashed out ofthe suite.
Fuji soon returned with a brown interagency envelope. He delivered it to thePresident then mumbled, "I hope no overflow!" as he ran into the bathroom.Mr. Roosevelt unsealed the metal clasp on the envelope and emptied the contentsonto his white bedspread. He grinned while inspecting the nylon stockings.
"Okay sir, your bath is drawn."
President Franklin Delano Roosevelt replaced the contraband, wheeled over to abookshelf and slipped the envelope behind an original edition of Poor Richard's Almanac."When's the missus due back?"
"Not for month. Wish we get delivery from stork and she stay home." He pushedthe wheelchair into the bathroom. Fuji removed Mr. Roosevelt's trousers and torturousleg braces.
The President smiled. "Careful what you wish for. Once that old stork finds youraddress, he might become a pest. He visited the missus and me six times in ten years.First a little girl, then five boys."
Claude Fuji laughed with the President.
* * * * *
Still high on adrenaline, the first lady changed into blue-and-white-striped pajamas.She left her bedroom and took her dirty clothes to the hamper in the hall closet,dropping them on top. She dug down and fished out her husband's shirt. It reeked ofFrench perfume and the collar had a scarlet-colored smudge. Tucking it under her arm,she trotted downstairs, straight to his secretary's office. Looking over her shoulder, Mrs.Roosevelt ducked inside. She sat in Vera Blandings' chair, rummaging through herdesk. The first lady removed a tube of lipstick from the top side drawer. Shestraightened the small stacks of papers inside, then hurried back to her bedroom. Thankgoodness no one saw me.
Eleanor shut the door and locked it. She yanked the cap from the lipstick andtwisted it up. Mrs. Roosevelt compared the color to the smudge on her husband's shirt.It matched. Her stomach churned as tears welled in her eyes. Not again. All the painfrom 1918 came rushing back. That Lucy Mercer had nearly ended their marriage. I willnot stand for him to be involved with another secretary. Eleanor twisted the lipstick backdown, replaced the cap and chucked it into a wastebasket. Then she shoved his shirt inwith it. She stomped it down with her foot.
Eleanor climbed in bed and picked up the telephone receiver on her walnutnightstand.
The White House operator asked, "Yes Missus Roosevelt, how may I direct yourcall?"
Purchase Hundred Dollar Bill:Amazon    Kindle    Barnes and Noble    Nook    ARe

Bureau of Engraving and Printing Mystery

Excerpt III From: Hundred Dollar Bill by Sherry Morris

Miss Chloe Lambert stepped off the streetcar at the corner of Fourteenth and CStreets. Frigid air played tag with her breath and steam from underground. Strollingcarefully on the slippery sidewalk, she watched as Sergeant Bill Blandings hoisted theloading dock door and stepped outside the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. Hestruck a match to light the cigarette dangling from his lip then ascended the ramp,locking his gaze onto hers. Heart pounding, Chloe paused to refresh her lipstick. Billsucked the smoke deep into his lungs as he watched and waited. Finally exhaling, heblew five smoke rings. She stepped up to him and scattered the circles with her bluegloved hand.
He said, "You are one gorgeous dame tonight."
Chloe gazed into his midnight blue eyes. Nobody has eyes like Bill. He has the devil inthem. They are so darned…irresistible. She brushed him aside.
He threw down his cigarette and snuffed it out with one twist of his black steel-toedpolice boot. Powdery snow blew off the retaining walls as they walked down the saltedramp. Chloe and Bill entered the Bureau of Engraving and Printing. He lowered thedoor. It thumped against the concrete floor.
She led the way through the cavernous federal building. The scent of floor polishwafted up from the pristine terrazzo.
He confided, "We're pretty much alone now. The bureaucrats departed hours ago.The charwomen came and went. Just the skeletal police detail is left. Me, Schwartz andKrankowski."
Bill followed Chloe into the printing room. He balked. "Jeez, this place is a pigsty."In her sweet southern drawl Chloe said, "Alcohol was the most popular guest atour office party today, resulting in a whole run of botched hundreds. They didn'tchange the plates. The same image is printed on both sides of the notes." She pointed tothe sloppily bundled currency and a big ink stain on the floor. "They ought not to havebothered working at all. As the currency inspector, I have to file a report. I feel like alousy snitch."
Bill eyed her fur. "Hey, where'd ya get the coat from? It's not from that weaselMyron in personnel, is it?"
"Eww! No, Bill. It's Mrs. Grogan's. My landlady. She let me borrow it. I told her thiswas a special night."
Bill grabbed her collar. They kissed hungrily.
Finally taking a much-needed breath, Chloe pulled away and smiled as sheunbuttoned the full-length sable. She was wearing his favorite blue dancing shoes…andnothing else.
"Jeez, Chloe—lay off of them doughnuts."
Before she could process the insult, Bill slipped his fingers under the fur. Sheshoved him away.
Her voice trembled, "I won't be your dirty little secret anymore. Divorce Vera."There, I've said it.
Bill ran his fingers through Chloe's soft red hair. He knew just the spot to touch."Lovey, we've been all through this. You know I can't possibly divorce her while he's inoffice. How would it look if the President's secretary all of a sudden up and gotdivorced? The Republicans would go wild! And it'd be rough on my little girls. Justwait a little bit longer. Lovey, I promise we'll be together soon. He ain't gonna be Prezfor the rest of his life ya know."
Chloe fought back tears. Whatever was I thinking? Momma was right. I should havestayed in the mountains. But eleven months ago, her country had called for good girls tofill the shoes of the boys at war. When I was still a good girl. I had no idea what I'd have to dofor my country. It might as well have been eleven millennia ago. I can't ever go back. Not now.She shoved her hands in the deep silk-lined pockets…where she felt the cold steel of arevolver.
Five shots exploded down from the supervisors' catwalk. Chloe dove under a metaldesk, pulling in an olive drab trash can for cover. Bill slumped face down into acarelessly heaped pile of hundreds.
Chloe peeked from behind the can. She watched a female silhouette blow smokefrom the barrel and stroll back along the catwalk then out of sight. No! This can't behappening. I'm in a bad movie. Bad dream. Bad world.
Shaking, Chloe crawled to Bill and rolled him over. A C-note covered his eyes. Sheyanked it off and screamed in horror.
Chloe ran through the building and slammed straight into the loading dock door.She struggled to hoist it high enough to crawl under. Rolling onto the ramp, she pushedherself up on hands and knees, then to full height. She put her hand on the revolver inher pocket and lit out running. As she looked back over her shoulder, she slipped onthe icy sidewalks, battering her knees.
Back on her feet, she forced herself onward. A dry lump ached in the back of hermouth, forced open from heavy breathing. Frozen rain stung her face. As Chloetumbled again she pulled her hand out of her pocket, not letting go of the pistol. Thecobblestones abraded her wrists as she broke her fall.
As she scrambled up again, one blue heel snapped off in a snow-covered grate,propelling her face first into a police call box. Moaning in agony, tasting blood, Chloelooked over her shoulder. A lone car sped past. Forcing herself onward, she made it tothe Fourteenth Street Bridge. Gasping for breath, Chloe leaned over the concrete railingand threw the revolver. It slid along the surface of the frozen Potomac River. "Damn it.I can't even dispose of a gun properly. It doesn't matter anyhow. It isn't the murderweapon." Murder weapon? "No!"
An icicle fell from the lamppost above her. Chloe drew back as it seemed to shatterin slow motion. She looked at the hundred dollar bill still crumpled in her hand.Benjamin Franklin's picture adorned both sides. The drunken printers should beashamed of themselves for such a mistake. Chloe dreaded turning them in. But rightnow that was the least of her worries. She shivered almost convulsively as she clutchedthe paper to her heart. Tears blinded her as she buttoned the fur coat.
Purchase Hundred Dollar Bill:Amazon    Kindle    Barnes and Noble    Nook    ARe

Franklin Delano Roosevelt Mystery

Excerpt II from Hundred Dollar Bill by Sherry MorrisPresident Roosevelt wearily stared at the excess ink dripping back into the well. Hebegan dotting the Is on his speech just as his secretary strolled in.
"Here you go, sir, this is the last one. The courier is waiting."
He signed six pages. Vera slipped them into an envelope and sealed it as she left theOval Office. She gave it to the tired-looking young courier. He dashed off.
The President placed the speech in his lap then gripped the gritty wheels of hisarmless wooden chair. He propelled himself out to Vera's office and deposited his soonto-be historical prose on her desk. "Sorry I kept you so late. Just leave this for one of thegirls in the typing pool in the morning."
"Nights like these I appreciate living with my mother-in-law. She's wonderful withthe children."
"Come on up and have a martini with me before you go. The missus is out at acharity hoop dee doo and cocktails for one are no fun… I'll put two olives in yours." Hewinked.
Stretching catlike, she placed her elbows on the desk and gazed into his eyes. "Allright, F.D. You know I'm a sucker for your…olives." Vera tenderly kissed him on hisstubbled cheek.
She arched her back, thrusting her chest to attention as she stood. Vera protectedher typewriter with a vinyl cover and then strolled over to the mahogany rack in thecorner. She grabbed her black wool hat and coat, releasing her smoky French perfumedscent while shaking it out, then returned to her desk to retrieve her pocketbook.They had a quiet ride on the elevator to the second floor. They heard only its lowhum as they both smiled at the padded walls, mulling over the long day. The doorsopened into an informal gathering area outside the family's living quarters. ThePresident motioned for his secretary to exit. She nodded and sauntered over to theseating area.
He rolled his wheelchair to an ornate teacart where his valet had set up the martinifixings. Franklin concentrated with pride as he measured his secret blend of gin andvermouth into the silver shaker.
Vera sat down on a comfortable red sofa and kicked off her pumps. Reaching overto the large radio, she flinched as static blasted when she switched it on. She turneddown the volume and tuned in a station. Settling back into the soft couch, Vera caughthis eye as she undid the three bottom buttons on her shirtdress, revealing her thighs.Beaming, the President wheeled himself the short distance. He handed her one ofthe two stemmed glasses entwined in the fingers of his left hand.
Vera downed her martini.
He raised his eyebrows. "Thirsty, darling?"
She blushed and willed him to refill, but didn't ask. Instead she smiled seductivelyand curled her long shapely legs underneath her. Vera nibbled on the olives.Franklin turned up the volume on the radio and tweaked the dial for a clearersignal. It was an upbeat cinema song heavy on the clarinets. Twisting a lock of nutbrownhair around her finger, Vera sang along in an exquisite alto vibrato. Franklinjoined in the harmony. As the song ended, he refilled her glass. She drank it a littleslower this time.
He said, "Oh, 'Ginger', what fun. Wish I could've whirled you 'round the dancefloor."
"We'd make a grand team…'Fred'… I'd have gone to Hollywood you know, if Ihadn't married…"
"You'd have made it to the big-time too, Vera. But life—what will be—will be."
They both pondered in silence.
The radio host announced the time was 10:30.
The President ogled her legs as she slipped her shoes on. Swaying with feline grace,Vera walked to the teacart and deposited her lipstick-rimmed glass.
She turned to him. "Thanks for the cheer."
 "Vera darling, can you stay just a bit longer? I'll get Mrs. Stoneburner to send upsome tuna sandwiches…"
"Not tonight, F.D."
He tried to hide a grimace as he stretched his polio-ravaged body to pick up hercoat from the couch.
She smiled warmly as she leaned down and placed her arms inside the black woolhe held for her.
"Well, then, have one of the Secret Service boys see you home. I've heard it's quiteslippery out. These blasted Washington ice storms. Why can't it just either rain orsnow?"
"No thanks boss. I'll make my way just fine."
He tugged on her sleeve and pulled her down to him. They shared a lingering kiss.She wiped the lipstick from his face before donning her spotless white gloves. Verasearched through her purse.
"What are you missing, darling?"
"My eyeglasses."
"They're on your desk, Vera. Watched you put 'em there before you pecked me."
"Thanks, F.D. I'll pick 'em up on the way out. Can I get you anything? Do you wantme to push you to your quarters?"
He squirmed and straightened his posture. "No. I'm perfectly capable—"
She interrupted him, "Yes you are. Maybe I can find a copy of that song you like atthe record shop. Would you like that?" Stupid! Why'd I have to go and say that? I'veinsulted his manhood. I hope changing the subject will cover it quick.
"Absolutely. And bill it to me personally, now."
"I'll do no such thing. I am a working girl you know. I have a hundred dollar bill ortwo lying around the house."
"Pardon me, Miss Rockefeller."
After a brief stop at her office, Mrs. Vera Blandings exited the White House andcarefully footed her way down the icy brick driveway. Tiny snowflakes danced in theglow of gaslights. Peering around the shadowy grounds, Vera spotted the President'svalet accompanying Fala on his last outing for the night. Mr. Fuji waved to her. Shecalled out, "Goodnight."
At the guard kiosk, the Secret Service agent on duty signed her out. "Goodnight,Mrs. Blandings, have a nice weekend."
"Thank you, officer. I intend to. Goodnight."
As she turned to leave, he said, "Ma'am, if you can wait five or ten minutes, I canescort you home. It's really slippery out tonight."
Absolutely not! Vera twisted her head back and said, "Oh, I'll be just fine. Don'tworry about me."
 "My relief will be here any minute. I really should see you home, ma'am."
"No. Thank you, you're very kind, but I enjoy the solitude. It's my time to reflectand daydream a little. You understand?"
"Sure."
Vera headed west on Pennsylvania Avenue then circled the block as fast as shecould without slipping. She hunched behind a massive oak tree outside the northeastappointment gate, where she had just exited. She was breathing so hard that she put herhat in front of her nose and mouth so the vapor wouldn't be noticed.
Just before eleven o'clock, Ashley Jones, the night relief, reported to the kioskcarrying his predictable sack of Tiny Tavern hamburgers.
As the Secret Service agents snacked and chuckled, Vera's respiration returned tonormal. She put her hat back on and snuck over to a gatepost. She pulled a brass letteropener from her coat pocket and ran it down a groove in the limestone, triggering thelatch. A hidden door popped open. She dashed inside, closing it behind her.
Crunching paint snagged roughly on her gloves as she hurried down a ladder tothe tunnel entrance. She found the first light switch and flipped it. Vera shiveredthough puddles and muck. Her suction-like footsteps echoed in the cobwebbycatacombs. The incessant drip-drip-drip from cracks in the mortar pound-poundpoundedin her head. Some of it spit in her face.
At the end of each passage, she shut the light off before entering the next chamber.Every turn and switchback in the labyrinth was familiar. After all, it was part of her jobdescription to know how to get the President out of the White House—in a hurry.Vera made her way to the train platform hidden below the Bureau of Engravingand Printing where FDR secretly boarded for his trips. A scream from behind sent herscrambling up the platform and into the presidential rail car. Springing through thedarkened conference room, she bounced off the paneled walls of the narrow corridorand ducked inside the first lady's bedroom.
In the moments of seemingly eternal silence, clutching her purse so tight that herfingertips pulsed, Vera summoned her inner strength. She finally attributed the screamto either her nervous imagination or a house cat. And if it was a human scream, well,she wasn't in a position to go and save the day. Vera crept back through the train,remembering. At least I got to ride this thing once. That's more than most girls can say.After peeking out a window into the darkened loading zone, she inhaled deeplyand sprinted out the metal door of the observation car. It clanged shut behind her.Dashing up concrete steps, she entered the Bureau of Engraving and Printingthrough a stairwell door, tiptoeing to a supervisors' catwalk. Vera ignored the four foottall pallets of brand-new United States currency stacked near the walls. She climbed thesteps to the catwalk and gripped the railing as she hastened to the printing room.
Purchase Hundred Dollar Bill:Amazon    Kindle    Barnes and Noble    Nook    ARe

Eleanor Roosevelt Mystery

  Excerpt I from: Hundred Dollar Bill by Sherry Morris
Sometime before midnight, freezing rain pelted out a maddening symphony on the
window. Benjamin Franklin gazed compassionately from the bloody hundred dollar bill
floating near Miss Chloe Lambert's breasts. The redhead lay soaking in a claw-footed
tub at Mrs. Grogan's boarding house on Nichols Avenue in the District of Columbia.
Her skin was flushed from the steamy water, but she was sure she'd never feel warm
again. With eyes dehydrated from crying, Chloe stared at her black, blue, green and
yellow bruises.

Earlier that night, across town, Mrs. Anna Eleanor Roosevelt's footsteps resonated
army-like as she stormed the west wing. A black Scottish terrier rounded a corner and
scrambled toward her. "No, Fala, no!" Dodging his excited leap, she caught the fluffy
sash of her emerald evening gown on the edge of a marble pedestal displaying the bust
of Abraham Lincoln. She twisted and caught old Abe, but the taffeta tore. Eleanor
replaced the sculpture, picked up the little dog and marched to an office.
She shoved the door open. Stepping inside, Mrs. Roosevelt vigorously petted the
wiry-haired pooch while closing the door with her back. It hit the jamb with an audible
resolve. "Vera, I am well aware of your…your little game, and I've had quite enough of
you."
Mrs. Vera Blandings stopped typing. The long-legged brunette stood, removed her
librarian's glasses and snuffed her cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. She blew a
plume of smoke at the first lady before running manicured fingers along her starched
beige shirtdress. A smirk twitched the corners of her scarlet lips. She crossed her arms
and turned toward the wall.
The first lady crinkled her nose and bent down. Fala leapt from the crook of her
arm. He scampered over to sniff the closed door to the Oval Office.
Eleanor rose, thrust her shoulders back and stomped to the rear of the desk,
launching a rolling chair out of her way. She squeezed between her husband's newest
secretary and a portrait of George Washington.
Vera took a step back, grinning.
Mrs. Roosevelt demanded, "Just what will it take to make you disappear?"
"A new job."
"Done."
"A role in the next Alfred Hitchcock movie."
Eleanor laughed.
Vera glared. "I'm quite serious." She cocked her head, retrieved her chair and
tucked it under the desk. Pulling out the bottom drawer, Vera removed her reptilian
pocketbook and gently shut the drawer.
Eleanor silently seethed in the stale smoky air while composing a response. I will
not allow this woman to slip me into unsavory territory. "Fine then. So be it. Pack your
snakeskin. No more games in the interim or—"
The magnetic purse clasp clicked when Vera opened it. After removing a pack of
cigarettes and a box of matches, the President's secretary sashayed out of the office.
The first lady glanced at her diamond watch and groaned. She pulled the chair out
and plopped herself down. It hissed as the cushioned seat compressed. She opened
Vera's top desk drawer and rummaged through stubby pencils, rubber bands, a loose
deck of playing cards, a crumpled issue of True Romance magazine that was caught in
the back, a piece of yellow police chalk and several pistachios. Eleanor briefly picked up
the waxy chalk. What in the devil is she doing with this? The stuff they outline corpses with…
She shrugged her shoulders and dropped it back inside with a clunk.
Digging out a paper clip, the first lady wove the coiled wire through the soft frays
of her ripped sash. It popped right off. She noticed a little chalk had transferred from
her fingers to her gown. What else can happen?
Yanking the middle drawer open, she found a stapler inside. After three squeezes
and some creative tucking of the taffeta, she was good to go. When Eleanor replaced the
stapler, a metallic glint in the back caught her attention. She opened the drawer all the
way and pulled out a pearl-handled pistol. What the…
Eleanor heard giggling. Her eyes darted around the office as she shut the drawer,
shoved the gun under her waistband and covered it with the sash. She jumped up,
wrapped her arms around her midsection and tiptoed to the open door to peek into the
corridor.
Eleanor watched Mrs. Stoneburner meandering toward the kitchen. Claude Fuji, the
President's valet, was finishing up a good bubbly laugh.

"Hello Missus First Lady. You are so beautiful in jade."
She exhaled and stepped into the hall.
He reached out to shake hands with Mrs. Roosevelt, as was his nature, but she
awkwardly declined.
"Thank you, Claude."
His face saddened at the slight. "Anything I do wrong to you?"
"No, Claude, no…oh…come on to my study. Follow me."
Mrs. Roosevelt's evening gown swished as they hurried to her private room.
"Close the door, Claude."
He obliged.
Eleanor gingerly peeled back the delicate folds of taffeta and yanked the gun out.
"Look what I found in his secretary's desk!"
"Missus First Lady, please do not go waving that thing at Claude." The valet
snatched the firearm from her.
Eleanor moved closer, hovering over him. Her stomach knotted as she whispered,
"Is it loaded?"
"Please step back," he said with a sternness she'd never before witnessed.
She complied.
He proceeded to her small desk. An envelope flew to the floor as he shoved a stack
of stationery away to clear a space. He emptied the chambers into his hand and then
spread the contents on her desk. Yanking the chain on her desk lamp, Fuji picked up
one nine-millimeter brass bullet and held it under the light. "Blanks."
"Blanks? How can you be sure?"
"The ends of the casings are crimped down and sealed. Live ammunition is
rounded and smooth. These are definitely blanks. Look."
Mrs. Roosevelt leaned down and examined the projectile as he twirled it slowly.
Just what are you up to, Vera?
Claude Fuji replaced the projectiles. "Put back where you got from. We watch her."
"You mustn't tell the President about Vera's gun. I don't want to upset him
unnecessarily."
"What gun? No gun."
Purchase Hundred Dollar Bill:Amazon    Kindle    Barnes and Noble    Nook    ARe