Sherry Morris's Blog, page 4

Serial Fiction: Mistake 3

~*~The damned Donna song. Why did Ritchie Valens have to write a song with my name in it? Oh-Donna. That’s my miserable nickname. They always use it to pull me outta my happily ever after. I hate belonging to the Payne family. Ashley, promise you’ll be waiting for me when I come back? Don’t forget to send some music to pull me back to you. Keep Make Believe Island just for us, will ya lover boy?My stomach burned with sourness rising up into indigestion. When I breathed in Bellissimo, Tammy’s perfume, I quoted a famous bear, “Oh bother!” and opened my eyes. There she was. Tammy screeched, “Good! You’re back with us. Don’t do that to me again Oh-Donna. You scared me to death.”I focused on my stereo system across the room. The amber clock blinked and winked. My song wasn’t playing. I’d set Dobie Gray’s “Drift Away” on repeat and was pulled into the best dream ever. Ashley and I had been consummating our love. That secret agent man freed my soul and beckoned me to the passageway of erotic delight. Darn it. What had happened to the music that transported me to him this time? I groaned, “Did the power go out?”The pitter-patter of four enormous paws announced the dog’s eminent return.Tammy replied, “What? No. Well, I dunno, maybe. How long have you been sleeping? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I shoveled out wall to wall poop in the kitchen. And scrubbed the nasty dried pee residue. Look at your poor dog. She’s starving.”I felt her thick tongue licking my bare feet. Plenty of slobber. “Norma Jean” I said, weakly. I swung my legs off the sofa and thumped onto the floor, hitting my head on the glass topped coffee table. “Oww!” I pushed myself up, shaky on my hands and knees. I tried to stand again. Tammy gently helped me to my feet. “I’m sorry, Sis. You really are sick. I’ll make you some food. Sit back down.”“No. Bathroom. Quick.” Tammy got me there, just in time. She even helped me onto the seat and then she closed the door. That was scary. Tammy helping me. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, Sis.”I did what needed to be done and washed my hands. Oh did I look horrible in the oval mirror. I ran a brush through my tangled hair and washed my face with some liquid hand soap. When I flung open the door, my sister helped me stumble to the kitchen. I plopped down in a chair.The grinder moaned as she dispensed crushed ice and then some water into a glass. She handed it to me. I gulped it down and wiped my cracked lips with the back of my trembling hand. She refilled the cup. I shivered.Tammy asked, “Where’s the thermostat?”“Hunh?”“The thermostat. I feel like Lucy Ricardo in the meat locker. It’s cold and raining outside. The air conditioner shouldn’t be set so low.”“By the front door. Push the warmer button. Until you hit seventy-two.”Tammy wiggled off on her mission.Norma Jean laid on my feet. Her warm bony body felt comforting. I stroked her head with the tips of my fingers. “Oh poor girl. I’m so sorry you didn’t get to eat for...Tammy what’s today?”My sister returned. “Monday.”“Wait a minute. I paid the bills this morning. She couldn’t have pooped that much and lost weight in a few hours.” My head hurt. “Hey, you and Perry were leaving to go look for Momma today. I saw you.”“You did not. And that was last Monday.”We both gasped.Tammy flipped a grilled cheese sandwich she was melting in a small skillet. She served it on one of my palm tree motif plates, with a dill pickle. “I’m on a low carb diet. I can’t eat the bread.”“Oh-Donna, you haven’t eaten in a week. And you’re not fat. Eat!”“Cut it in half for me. Diagonally?” I gazed up at her pitifully.She grabbed a steak knife from the block near the stove and slit the gooey sandwich.I took a bite, huffing on the hotness, rolling it around on my tongue. Norma Jean hurtled to the door, barking. The door bell chimed “Aura Lee”. I didn’t want any more company. Tammy sashayed down the hallway. I could see her open the door.I chewed and swallowed. It tasted so good and creamy. It’d been so long since I’d eaten bread. Even this old stuff she’d found in the freezer tasted so buttery and comforting. And the gooey Swiss cheese was so yummy.My stomach reeled taking in the residual doggy potty scent. The citrus disinfectant didn’t quite kill the odor. It stunk as if there was still a fresh pile. I leaned down and looked under the table. No wonder.I overheard hushed whispers. “We’ve got to do something about her. Have her institutionalized or something, Perry. You can sign a court order, like you did with Mom.”“How bad is she? Crazy? Dying? Sick?”“Yeah, yeah yeah. I feel sorry for her though. I mean, what a way to go, losing her mind and all. She was mumbling when I woke her up. It was as if she didn’t want to come back, she wanted to die.”I sat up. The third bite of the sandwich did it. I was full. And angry. I light-headedly rushed down the hall, smack into my seven feet tall and seemingly seven feet wide fifty year old half-brother, with a shaved head. Perry was wearing his usual emergency visitation garb:  his black judge’s robe. He was always such a show off, running around in it. Couldn’t he see how silly he looked out of the court room?Perry steadied me. “How are you feeling Oh-Donna?”“Like throwing the two of you out. How dare you come to my home, uninvited and unannounced and then talk about me like I’m retarded and can’t understand your evil hurtful words?” I cried.Perry escorted me to my living room sofa. I didn’t have much of a choice but to comply, because of his size and my shaky state.I said, “No! In the recliner.” He obliged. At least I’d be able to get myself up easier from the chair.My half-brother squatted at my side. He brushed a stray curl from my eyes. “Oh-Donna. You have a brain injury. Remember when you collapsed at work and they rushed you to the hospital? The neurologist said it likely happened when you totaled your Suburban, after hitting the deer. Remember?”Oh yeah, I remembered. I was moments from leaving home, to catch a flight to New York for the writers’ conference. I was up for an award and I had been assigned an eight minute appointment with the acquisitions editor of Charlatan Press. But Daddy telephoned me and said Momma was trying to kill him. He was a pathological liar. I’d only figured this out two years ago. My whole life had been smoke and mirrors, all orchestrated by the great puppeteer, Dr. Nathan Payne. But my conscience made me check it out. I was driving to my parents’ house when Daddy called again, on my cell phone. I knew it was him because the distinctive ring tone I’d set for him was “We Wish You A Merry Christmas.” I couldn’t unhook it from my belt. I remember the deer smashing through the windshield and pinning my shoulder with his antler. Then I woke up in the hospital.I shuddered. “Yeah, I remember.”“They wanted to run more tests and keep you under observation. You ran off against medical advice.”“So.”“So your little narcoleptic-like incidents are getting worse. You need to get some medical help. Maybe a nice long rest away from all the stress you’ve been under, I know it was tough on you—” He cleared his throat, “When Dad died. You were his favorite and all.”I was his favorite. Oh yeah, right. That’s why he named me executrix, but willed everything to you and Tammy. Greedy needy children that you are. That was in the will Perry produced. Roderick Meddlestein, Esquire, my parent’s across-the-street neighbor for thirty years, later revealed daddy had retained him to draw up a more recent will, leaving everything to Momma. Perry stood up and said, “I’ll call Saint Christopher’s. They have a nice unit—” I flipped him the bird. Poked him in his big floppy belly. “You sonofabitch, Perry Lucifer Payne! You’re trying to have me committed like you did Momma, so you can sell my house and things and split the money with Tammy and laugh all the way to Hell. That’s where you are both going. Go now! Get outta my house! You go to Hell! You couldn’t keep Momma in the nut house and you won’t stash me there either! I’ll go to Momma. You’ll never find us.”Tammy said, “So you do know where Mom is. You sent us on that wild goose chase to Palm Springs on purpose, didn’t you?”The phone rang. Tammy answered. She handed it to me. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I sniffled and said, “Hello.”“Donna? This is Mike Taurus...your mother’s friend...” Something in his voice didn’t sound right.“Yes Mike. How are you?”I cleared my throat as I listened to him exhale. “You’re mother died in her sleep this morning.”I threw my head back onto the firm gold recliner. “No.” I choked out. “Are you sure?” What a stupid question. If he weren’t sure, he wouldn’t have called me.“Yes sweetheart. She’s in a better place now.”I swallowed hard. “I’ll fly down right away. Give me directions to the island.”“Just go to the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach. Call me when you arrive and I’ll come and get you. Tell the concierge you’re my— You’re Chloe’s daughter. They’ll take care of you.” The historic Fontainebleau. Where old Mike works as a bell hop. Love the place.Mike coughed. “She wanted to be buried next to her babies. Is that all right with you?”I closed my eyes. Remembering talking to Momma on the island, by the graves of her stillborn twins. “Of course. Yes. Yes.”“I’ll see you some time tonight or tomorrow then?”“Yes.” I clicked the off button.Tammy asked, “Just where do you think you’re going? Have a date with a Starbucks barista? Can he hop you up on caffeine long enough to stay awake during dinner and dancing?”I closed my eyes tight and then broke into a breathless round of tears. Oh it hurt. My whole body hurt. My soul hurt. The little girl in me was dying. I finally blurted out “Momma died. Momma is dead. I’m an orphan.”
Tammy and Perry shot looks at one another.
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Serial Fiction: Mistake 2

~*~Tammy pounded on the front door of her sister Donna’s Virginia townhouse. Her pink manicure reflected back from the clean etched glass. A hulking monster of a dog placed two paws on the other side of the door. Tammy stumbled backwards and grabbed the wrought iron railing. The canine emitted only a pitiful whimper. Maybe Oh-Donna’s in the shower. The sky began to spit on Tammy. She descended the twelve brown brick steps and marched around the matching path to the rear of her sister’s end unit townhouse. She opened the gate on the six foot tall privacy fence. The first five feet of it was board on board, the top foot was lattice. After latching the gate, she dashed under the deck. Tammy tried the French doors in the basement. They were unlocked. She stomped in and slammed the door behind her. Immediately turning her nose up at the overdone red walls and carpet, she hurried across a room filled with guitars, a piano, harmonicas, violins and recording equipment. Tammy took the stairs two at a time. Reaching the top, she flung open a white steel door and was greeted by Scooby Doo-ette. “Hi girl, remember me? How are you, Sugar?” Something wasn’t right. The dog was nearly emaciated. Her ribs were showing and she wasn’t her boisterous self. “Eew! What’s that smell?” The kitchen reeked of urine and there were three piles of poop on the hardwood floor.“You poor thing! Oh-Donna went away and forgot about you.” Tammy unlocked the French Doors in the kitchen. The dog bolted out onto the deck. She filled her water bowl and then scooped three cups of kibbles into the chrome food dish. The whimpering dog slumped on the pressure treated wood deck, surrounded by terra cotta pots of wilted flowers. Tammy let her back in. The Great Dane immediately chomped down the food and lapped up the water.The stench in the kitchen gagged her. Tammy opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink and dug out a trash bag, disinfectant and yellow rubber gloves. Yanking seven paper towels off the roll on the pistol-gray granite counter, Tammy went to work cleaning the mess, all the while mumbling, “Oh-Donna you good for nothing bitch. How could you do this to a poor defenseless doggie?” Tammy breathed through her mouth, trying desperately not to inhale. “And how could you be so cruel as to cut me off from Daddy’s money?” A tear rolled down her cheek. “How could you? You’ll pay for this little sister of mine.” Tammy placed the smelly bag out on the deck and then shoved the cleaning supplies back under the sink. The air conditioning kicked on. A cold shiver raced up her spine. “Where is the thermostat Scooby Doo-ette? Hunh girl?” The dog brushed up against her silk-stockinged leg and licked her throat. She petted the Great Dane. The pair headed down the hallway, in search of the thermostat. Tammy stopped in front of the living room, where she glimpsed her sister lying on the sofa. Lifeless. Tammy screamed.The dog cried and licked Tammy’s hand. “Ohmagod, she’s dead!” Hey, wait a minute, if Oh-Donna is dead, then that means she can’t be executrix of Daddy’s will and so I can get put back on the dole and hey, wait a minute. She’s an old spinster, so I logically will inherit her estate as well... Tammy sighed. Oh, I’ll probably have to split it with Perry. But at least I’ll get a nice chunk of change. She looked the corpse over. Her sister lay in the fetal position, with a smile curling the corner of her pale lips. What an angelic porcelain face. Even now, a twinge of jealousy swirled. Oh-Donna was blessed with naturally wavy blonde hair and flawless Caucasian skin. Tammy never did feel like they were real sisters. Even though the Payne’s adopted Tammy as a baby, she never warmed up to their natural daughter,    Oh-Donna. But Tammy did feel an allegiance to their son Perry. They were more alike.Tammy stepped closer, stumbling over the clumsy dog. Oh for the love of Prada, her tummy is moving up and down with her breathing. There goes my plan. “Wake up Oh-Donna.”She didn’t move. Tammy shook her arm. “Wake up! Now! Get up Oh-Donna.” No reaction. Tammy remembered Farts (their late father’s proctologist friend) telling her and Perry that Oh-Donna had a brain disorder which caused her to fall asleep at weird times. She recollected discovering her sleeping in the walk-in closet under the stairs at their parents’ house and then she’d fainted in front of her moments later. Tammy hugged her chilled arms, wishing the damned air conditioner would shut off. “Wake up Oh-Donna. Wake the frick up, you brain damaged witch. Wake up sissy-girl.” Her sister didn’t respond. It was as though she was in a coma... “Ohmagod. Oh-Donna is in a coma! I’m so sorry sweetie! You poor thing. That’s why the dog was starved and crapped in the house. How long have you been like this?” Tammy snatched the cordless phone from the end table and punched in her brother’s cell phone number. “Judge Payne here.”“Perry! Oh-Donna’s in a coma! And the dog pooped all over the house and she’s gonna die and that bitch cut me off, I’ve been evicted—” “What? Slow down. Oh-Donna’s in a coma? Where are you?”“I’m at her house. I can’t wake her up.”“Hang up and call nine-one-one.”Tammy breathlessly squealed, “I don’t have time to look up the number for nine-one-one. What if she dies?” Sweet Jesus forgive me for my earlier thoughts. I didn’t mean them. Honest I didn’t. Her stomach churned. I’m gonna go to Hell for my thoughts. Tears deposited mascara in her eyes. She closed them tightly.Perry barked, “Call an ambulance. The number for nine-one-one is nine-one-one Goddamit! I’ll be over as soon as I can. Call me and tell me what hospital they’re taking her to.” He hung up.Tammy conjured up the last time her sister fainted, she’d thrown a glass of water in her face and she woke up. “Water!” She sprinted to the kitchen and picked up the dog’s water bowl. She filled it and jogged down the hallway, sloshing a trail behind her. The Great Dane lapped it off the hardwood floor. In the foyer, Tammy tripped on the edge of a sisal area rug and emptied the bowl onto her designer suit. “Darn you Oh-Donna!” Her scream pierced so loudly the dog skedaddled upstairs. “Oh...” Her sister groaned.Tammy dropped the chrome bowl and scrambled to her side. She picked up her arm, pumping it up and down, slapping her hand. “Oh-Donna, wake up Oh-Donna!”Her sister murmured, “No...! No...! Not the Donna song...” Her smile morphed into a scowl. Tammy slapped her sister’s face with both hands. “Wake up Oh-Donna. Now!”
“No. No. Go back. Ash...ley...”
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Serial Fiction: Mistake 1

So Much for My Happy Ending
Tammy climbed three flights of stairs. Her breath hitched as soon as she spied her apartment door. Wide open.In snakeskin stilettos, she tippy-toed down the stained blue carpeted hallway. The place reeked of industrial disinfectant. As she stepped into the vast emptiness of her home for the last seven months, she screamed. “Help! Fire! Fire!” There wasn’t a fire, but that always elicited quicker responses than Help! Police! Nobody came. She blazed a trail through the apartment, checking every room and closet. Her possessions were all gone. Nothing remained but pink shower curtain rings dangling in the bathroom and a few shards of her Manhattan skyline mural clinging to the living room wall.She sprinted down the stairs two at a time while groping the cold metal railing. She had a flashback of running down Beverly Boulevard in pumps and a thong tankini, but this was no publicity shoot for the gym.Like the Bionic Woman, Tammy ran across the parking lot and stormed into the rental office. A couple sitting at the manager’s desk twisted around to look at her. The husband smiled, ogling her sculpted mocha thighs exposed up to there in a short white skirt. The wife glared at him.“Where are my belongings?” Tammy demanded.The manager said, “Excuse me one moment,” to the couple.He slipped his fingers through his greasy gray hair as he scurried around the desk and motioned for Tammy to join him near the restroom. In a hushed tone he said, “Ms. Payne, you were evicted.”“When? Why? How dare you!” She threw her arms up in the mildewy office air and then sliced through it with fists dropping at her sides.The manager stepped back.“My brother is Judge Perry Payne and you’ll be sorry—”“You were given the required notice. You know there is no grace period here at Arundel Forrest.” He shot an eye over his shoulder and spoke up. “We are the most sought after luxury apartment community in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan region. You knew that when you signed your lease. There is no grace period. You failed to pay your rent. Our collections department set the wheels in motion.”“What? My rent gets paid automatically by my—my money manager. Check your banking records. You lying little insignificant power tripping nobody.” Tammy placed her hand on her cleavage, trying to keep her runaway heartbeat under her skin. She remembered an official looking letter from the Sheriff’s office that she chose not to open, thinking it contained a summons for parking tickets. Her rent was automatically deducted from her father’s checking account... Oh-Donna! When Daddy died, she became executrix of his estate. She must have cut me off! I’m gonna kill that sissy-girl!Tammy clenched her fists and stamped her feet. Her blistered right pinky toe rubbed sorely inside the shoe. “There has been a terrible mistake. I’ll write you a check.” She sifted through her Kate Spade bag.The manager said, “We have no vacancies.”“Nobody is in my apartment. It’s empty. And I want reimbursement for my Manhattan mural. No. I want you to find another one and have it hung at your expense. And I expect my personal property—”“Your apartment has been rented to another tenant. We have no vacancies. Ms. Payne, you no longer live here.”“Well I’ve never been so insulted in my life. Just wait until my brother the judge hears about this!” Tammy flipped open her cell phone. The battery was dead. “And I want my belongings right now!”“The sheriff’s department hauled everything to the curb. What the other tenants didn’t want was slam dunked into the dumpster.”Tammy huffed out of the office and was smacked in the face with the Maryland August humidity. Scanning the parking lot, she drew in a deep breath. Good. At least my car is still here. She dug her keys out of her purse and clicked the door open on her teal Thunderbird. Grabbing the top frame of the door, Tammy stared at the dumpster across the lot. She swallowed the wad of humiliation in her throat, threw her head back and marched up the wooden ramp. Her nose wiggled at the ode de diapers. She clapped one hand across her mouth and nose. Tammy swatted at a yellow jacket as she peeked over the top of the green metal Mecca of waste. Broken terra cotta pots, burst open plastic trash bags oozing out coffee filters and apple cores and somebody’s old webbed aluminum chaise lay scattered on the bottom.
Tammy fought back tears at the realization the dumpster had recently been emptied. She raced back to her car, climbed inside and slammed the door on her ebony pony tail. “Ouch!” She opened it up, pulled her hair in and shut it. After engaging the locks, Tammy shoved the key in the ignition and cranked it. Good. It started. 
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Exclusive Excerpt of INAPPROPRIATE

Paperback:  Amazon    CreateSpace  Kindle eBooks:  US  AU  BR  CA   DE   ES   FR  IN  IT  MX  NL  JP UK“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 nothave 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.”“She’s a 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 Bibles and 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.

Exclusive Excerpt from MISLED

MisledBy Sherry Morris
Paperbacks: Amazon   BAM!  Barnes & Noble  CreateSpaceKINDLE:  US  UK  DE  FR  ES  IT  NL  JP  BR  CA  MX  AU  INA 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.

Exclusive Excerpt from SMOLDER

SMOLDERBY Sherry Morris
Paperback:  Amazon Barnes & Noble  BAM!Kindle: US  UK  CA   AU   DE   FR   IN  ES   IT   NL    JP   BR   MX* * * *"Here you go, a package from your dead cousin." The bespectacled letter carrier leered at Susan as he talked to her breasts.Her stomach knotted. This better not be a trick. The wind whooshed in as Susan reached outside the glass storm door and snatched the battered brown box. "I've never believed she's dead, Oliver, and here's proof." Please let Melody be alive and happy."Well, you see, the thing is, the postmark and return address are smudged, so this one's probably been around quite awhile, at the dead letter office."She glared at him. "Are those letters for me, too?"He handed his former schoolmate her junk mail. "So, what are your plans for Christmas? You know, it really is time you started dating again."She couldn't believe he would suggest such a thing. She would never date again. No way.He launched into his baritone version of "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?"Susan let go of the storm door. It slammed in Oliver's pock-marked face. After dropping the letters onto the foyer bench, Susan attempted to peel the clear tape off of the box as she carried the package down the hallway and into the kitchen.Her pulse raced as she rifled through her junk drawer, settling on a pen to pry the tape loose. She inhaled deeply while plopping down in a chair at the table. Staring at the box, Susan remembered…In July, she mailed her cousin Melody a birthday card. It came back at the end of August. Someone had scribbled on the envelope Deceased: Return To Sender. She called Melody's home in Nevada, right away.Melody's husband Zander answered, "Yellow.""Zander, it's Susan Cervini. I just got Melody's birthday card returned to me. Someone wrote on the envelope that Melody was deceased!""Yep.""What? She's not dead!""Ah jeeze, I'm sorry, hon. I thought the police contacted you. They said they would. I gave them your address. Jeeze, it was terrible, they made me take a lie detector test, two of 'em. Always suspect the poor grieving husband. I should sue 'em. Um…uh…I didn't have a memorial service 'cause there's no body yet. I can't even collect on her insurance policy. I tried calling you, but I just got your answering machine, for about four days in a row.""When?" Susan demanded."Let's see now…Melody disappeared on the fourth of July, so it must have been on the eighth that I started calling you. She went out to pick up some Chinese food and never came back. Vanished without a trace.""What do you mean by Melody 'vanished without a trace'?""I called the police and reported her missing. They found nothing. I went down to the daycare center and they said she hadn't come in to work. Her car was in the parking lot at the strip mall where the Chinese restaurant is. I'm a young widower, Susan—hey, I have another call. Good to hear from ya." Zander had hung up on her.After quite a bit of work with the pen, the box popped open. Susan scooped and brushed a layer of peanut shaped foam packing material out, dropping it into the chrome trashcan. She gingerly removed an asymmetric object. Peeling back the bubble wrap encircling it, she smiled, marveling at the charming penguins made from black seashells and delicate white eggs, perched on a granite rock. Susan gently ran her finger along the diminutive work of art. Strolling into the living room, she walked over to the curio cabinet and added the exquisite piece to the center of her collection.Her cousin Melody had always spoiled Susan with her beloved feathered creatures, penguins. She still had the stuffed penguin pillow that Melody had sewn for her in seventh grade home economics class. She slept with it every night.Tucking her hair behind her ears, Susan walked back into the kitchen and removed the remaining bubble wrap from the box. Nestled in the bottom was a compact disc. Susan peeled the shrink wrap off the CD, huffing as she picked at the stubborn tape sealing the top edge. Returning to the living room, she pulled her lite jazz CD out of the stereo system and inserted the one from Melody. She glanced over the track listing. It was the latest release from Mister Wright.God, this brings back memories, Susan thought. Melody had posters of him all over the bedroom they shared as teenagers. He was so cute…well, if you like the tall, muscular type with better hair than most women and a killer grin. She wondered what ever happened to good old Mister Wright? But more importantly, what had happened to Melody?Susan had prayed every night, that wherever Melody was and whomever she was with, that she was at peace and happy. And now, this package was proof, Melody was alive and reaching out to her.Unsettled but comforted, Susan commenced tidying her kitchen. Her yellow Labrador retriever, Bob, whimpered. Wiping her fresh teardrops away, she let the seventy-pound puppy out through the sliding glass door in the kitchen that led to the fenced back yard. The fence that she and Brandon had built. It was a four foot tall, Mount Vernon style picket fence. Susan had loved watching him drape a chain between the posts and mark it with a pencil. Then he cut off the top of the boards, making a scalloped pattern. He could do anything.Broom in hand, sweeping the crumbs and golden-white fur from the black and white checkerboard vinyl floor, Susan found herself swaying to the infectious melodies. She'd always loved listening to someone who could really play guitar—someone who could make love with it. Mister Wright's voice was so sexy. Her whole mood was lifted. So Melody never did get over her teenaged infatuation with good old Mister Wright. His new songs are excellent, right on par with the finest of today's pop.She let Bob in, then sat at her desk in the kitchen and checked her e-mail. There were only two posts. The first one was an offer for mortgage refinancing. It made her think about the local charity for fallen police officers and firefighters. Those benevolent folks had insisted on paying off Susan's mortgage and car loan. They also gave her carte blanche for tuition, if she wanted to go back to college for her Master's degree. They were so generous, offering anything money could buy. For a while, they telephoned or stopped by every week asking, "Just tell us what we can do for you, Mrs. Cervini. What do you need?"The worst was the day before Thanksgiving last year, when two uniformed police officers showed up with a turkey and all the trimmings. As if she had anyone to cook it for, let alone eat with.With a knot in her stomach, Susan deleted the spam.The second post was an advertisement for penile enlargement. Well, the virtual meanies just had to rub it in today. As if she'd ever see another one of those. She deleted the e-mail and emptied her e-garbage. The last song on the CD ended.Susan clicked on the search box and typed in Mister Wright. Surfing through some fan webpages, she was surprised to learn that he was still writing and recording. Wow, he actually wrote all of his own songs. She was impressed. And the gorgeous photos, the guy didn't have a bad side. She ogled one picture in particular: he was screaming into a microphone, red guitar in the air, moisture on his tanned, shirtless skin. Oh, look at those arms. Perfectly developed. His chest was covered in dark hair, just the right amount. And those leather pants.Holding her face in her hands, feeling the heat, she shook her head and scrolled down the page. His wife was the most gorgeously glamorous woman she'd ever seen. A living, breathing, thinking Malibu Barbie doll. The kids all took after her. She focused on the lovely doctor, Mrs. Wright. Susan lamented she wasn't even half as pretty. She laughed at herself for feeling jealous pangs at the wife of a fallen superstar she didn't even know.She surfed through a few more sites, hoping to find a concert schedule. No such luck, so she subscribed to his fan e-mailing list at Gobbledygroups.com. Maybe she'd find Melody at a concert. It was certainly worth trying.
The doorbell rang. Her eyes grew large as she jumped up and yanked the belt tight on her pink and powder blue chenille robe. She finger combed her hair as she passed by the foyer mirror. She peeked through the peephole. Johnny Newman. Good old Johnny. Susan opened the front door and the storm door.

Exclusive Excerpt from ACCUSED

GET YOUR FREE KINDLE TODAY!AccusedBy Sherry Morris
Paperback:  Amazon  Barnes & Noble  CreateSpace
Kindle:  US  UK  DE  FR  ES  IT  NL  JP  BR  CA  MX  AU  INFive minutes  had  passed  since  Chloe  had  tried  to  place  the  call  to  her  job  in Washington.  As  she  lowered  the  receiver  toward  the  telephone  cradle,  she  finally faintly heard him say, “Personnel, Mr. Wimpledink.”Chloe rammed the receiver onto her ear. She began her rehearsed sob story—“Hello Mr.  Wimpledink, this is Chloe Lambert. I’m in North Carolina, my mother’s had a stroke and I must tend to her while she convalesces. It’s…it’s too early for a prognosis.” Chloe sniffled. “I need a leave of  absence… My landlady will come and get my last check on pay day.” Please let him believe this big fat lie…Right on cue, he was sympathetic. “I’m so very sorry to hear that, Miss Lambert. Is there anything I can do to help?”“No, thank you. I don’t even know if I can help her now.” Her voice trembled.“I understand. I can give you about a month, but after that I cannot guarantee that we will continue to pick up your slack…you understand.”“Yes, yes I do. Thank you. Goodbye.” Stunned, she hung up the phone. That had gone too well. No mention of Bill or his murder.Rubbing her ear, Chloe shouldered open the swinging door and left the kitchen. Hungry  people  filled  the  bakery.  The  bell  tinkled  as  people  entered  and  left.  She scanned the crowd, but unfortunately, not one soldier was in the bunch. “Can I be of some help to you, Mr. Grogan?”“Oh no, don’t bother yerself one bit Snow White. Go. Have some sunshine.”“The sunshine will wait. I need to find a job first. Anything at all will do.” The sooner the better. I need to assimilate into Miami Beach and get my fresh start.Paddy filled two boxes with assorted doughnuts and shoved them in her arms. “1500 Collins Avenue—the bank. Tell the manager I sent ye.”Chloe carried the heavenly-smelling boxes outside. The skies were partly cloudy, mostly  bright  blue.  With  the  morning  breeze  blowing  through  her  hair,  Chloe  felt pretty. As she waited on the  corner to cross the street, she snuck a chocolate frosted doughnut from the top box. A long convoy of army trucks trudged along. By the time she’d made it to the bank, two more doughnuts had gone away without leave, as the soldiers would say.The short, bald, gourd-nosed guard smiled as he held the door open for her. “Take them to Mr. DuNoir, the last office on the left, miss.”Chloe looked at his gold wedding ring. She wasn’t too disappointed he was taken. Just because I need a husband doesn’t mean I have to be stuck with an ugly one. He’s almost as ugly as that poor nun from the train. In fact, they could be siblings. Chloe proceeded through the small nearly empty bank. Locating the manager’s office, she knocked on the glass of the open door.He smoothed his white slicked-back hair and beckoned her in.She said, “Patrick Grogan sent me.” Chloe noticed his eyes. One was mud brown, the other ice blue. Averting her gaze, she put the boxes on his desk, shuffling the full one to the top. A sense of familiarity made her try to conjure him up in her memory, but she couldn’t place him. And no way would she have forgotten those dichromatic eyes. Ha, maybe that’s why he’s familiar. I remember that from the chapter on family traits in biology class. This whole town is déjà vu-ish..His voice was inflectionless. “Well, that was fast work. Paddy is a dependable oldIrishman. What’s your name? Any banking experience?”Taken aback,  Chloe  smiled  as  she  gave  her  name  but  denied  previous  work experience. There is no way I can use the Bureau of Engraving and Printing as a reference for a bank in Miami Beach. As soon as he called to check, my jig would go kaboom.“Education?”“I’ve got a bachelor’s degree. In home economics.”“The position of Girl Friday will be yours tomorrow. Report in promptly at 8:50 a.m. and be prepared to be flexibly bored, but continuously busy.”* * * * *Chloe’s first week at the bank was quite hectic. She was forever running for coffee from the drugstore at the other end of the block. As she stood in the ever-present line, her gaze always halted upon a pair of porcelain cherubs on the clearance table. The first time she saw them, it occurred to her  that babies had to die in order for there to be cherubs in heaven. Chloe always shuddered and teared up. I’ll be so glad when they sell those.Mr. DuNoir liked his coffee piping hot, with double cream. She learned to ask for the cream separately. The diligent Girl Friday stirred it in as she served him. That way the refrigerated cream didn’t cool it off as she waddled down the street.When Chloe  wasn’t  fetching  this  or  those,  she  sat  at  her  cramped  little  table counting pennies. Bags and bags and bags of pennies. They never ceased to reproduce. Once in a while a dime  would weasel its way in. Between the copper and the steel pennies, and her eyes crossing, things got exasperating at times. Especially when some inconsiderate cad would walk by and blurt out a number,  on purpose probably. She forgot where she was and had to begin again.The bank only had one teller and Chloe didn’t notice many people coming and going. Well, what with the war going on, and since the darned army had taken over, she guessed that would put a hurt on the banking business.Perspiring profusely, Chloe knew her wool and tweed suits were out of place in this steamy climate. Not only that, but living over a bakery was fattening. She now had to loop a rubber band in the buttonhole of her skirt because she could only zip it halfway up. She tied it, pulled it through and hooked it onto the button. Her untucked blouse covered  the  embarrassment.  Chloe  made  a  mental  note  to  go  shopping  for  a  new wardrobe next week. Well, at least a new skirt or two. And I need to get introduced to some soldiers, right away.

National Novel Writing Month

I'm finally doing it this year. Participating in National Novel Writing Month. It's been a November thing since 1999. I always say I'll do it, but generally forget or cringe.

I haven't written anything new in over 7 years. Lots has happened to me in that time. I became an EMT. Worked outside of the home. Lost both parents and a sister. Cared for an old dog with special needs. Welcomed a rescue puppy into my heart. Became an empty nester. Including my son's parrot and daughter's dog.

So I figure I've got lots more life lived to draw upon. Except I can't think of anything to write. No new characters are taunting me. No story inside just needs to burst out.

I'm doing as all successful writers do. I'm writing anyway. Right now I'm just moving through my old writing prompts.  I figure eventually something will take root and I'll have my 'ah ha!' moment and my story will spew forth.

Are you stuck too? Try one of my writing prompts. They work.

Happy writing!

Love,
Sherry

I'm Scrubbing Bubbles

 
My nickname is Bubbles. Company is on the way. I cleaned the kids' tub with my handy dandy motorized scrubber. I'm not big on gadgets but this does a better job than even my husband's elbow grease. You can use any kind of cleaner you like, I used up what I had on hand. It's not perfect, but it's a lot better than it looked after my daughter cleaned it.

See my blog post on what my master bathroom shower looked like before and after.

I bought mine a couple years ago at QVC

They also sell it at Amazon

Bee Aware

Attended a lovely bridal shower today at a local winery. While the bride-to-be was opening gifts, a bee flew into her drink and drown. I was relieved as it had been buzzing and landing on everyone at my table. A good half an hour later, the bride-to-be fished it out of her drink and up on to the edge of the goblet. She then opened a few more gifts while proclaiming the bee was shaking it's head. We watched as it miraculously crawled on the rim and then flew away!