Beth Overmyer's Blog: The Blog of Beth Overmyer, page 42
October 28, 2014
As a Dog Returneth (a Serial): Part IV
"I'm telling you, I'm innocent!" Erik Boyette traced a hand across his brow. "Why would I want to poison Kathryn Smithe?"
Inspector King crossed and uncrossed his legs, then scribbled something down on his notepad. "Why indeed? Grayson."
A reliable yet shabby-looking police sergeant stepped forward. "Yes, sir?"
"Fetch Miss Blyde, will you, please? Thank you. Now, Mr. Boyette, why did you wish to kill your fiancée?"
Boyette frowned. "Kill Ethne? Are you mad? It's Miss Smithe that's dead, isn't it?"
The inspector smiled and folded his fingers together. "Yes, it is Miss Smithe, God rest her soul. The point—" There was a knock on the door. "Come in, Grayson. The point, Mr. Boyette, is this: Miss Smithe pretended to be your betrothed, for goodness knows what petty reason. You believed her, slipped something into her punch and here we are. The question is 'why'?"
"Sir, I—"
"You had the opportunity: A crowded party, noise, distractions."
"I didn't do it! You must believe me, Inspector; I would never harm Ethne Blyde. I love her."
King nodded. "Love. Love can do funny things to a fellow." He turned to the door. "Ah, Grayson. I see you brought the girl." His eyes traveled to another gentleman who had also entered the room. "What's this?"
"Mr. African, sir," said Grayson.
"Ackerman, actually, sir," the man said.
Grayson rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir; he said he wanted to help, and he was very persistent."
"Every Tom, Dick, and Harry thinks he can solve a murder." King waved them away with an inky hand. "Tell him to leave; I don't need some old fool getting in the way and muddling things up for me."
Mr. Ackerman gave a bow and said, "Sir, please do not think I'm an interfering busybody. You see, I was the chief inspector in charge of the original X Murder case."
The confusion on Miss Blyde and Mr. Boyette's faces was nothing to the surprise on Grayson's stubbly mug. King, however, grunted and pointed to the leather armchair opposite him. "Miss Blyde, you may have a seat there. Mr. Grayson, take Mr. Boyette into another room; I'll send for you both again when I'm ready. And… Ackerman, was it?"
"At your service," said Ackerman.
"We'll see. You may take the window seat. Now, Miss Blyde, tell me truthfully: Why were you and Miss Smithe dressed in an identical manner?"
Miss Blyde, now without wig and mask, took the seat offered her. "The truth? I don't know."
"You don't know what the truth is, my dear?" In an identical movement, King and Ackerman drew a notepad from their inner jacket pockets.
"No, no, I know what the truth is, and the truth is this: I don't know why she dressed like I did. We're good friends."
Inspector King looked at the pale-faced beauty, sitting tall and straight before him. One of her hands clutched to the armrest, while the other rested a pointed finger against her lower lip. King jotted down a few letters next to the woman's name, letters that would be gibberish to another. "Please, continue."
"Well, I told her what I was wearing tonight. She obviously copied me purposely."
"Do you know what possible motive she might have had?"
For a moment, Miss Blyde looked like she had no answer to the question, then burst out suddenly: "She's jealous. That's why she did it. Erik told me he thought that Kathryn was I when she came from the punch bowl."
"And where were you when Miss Smithe was getting punch?"
A blush came over her pale features, and she hemmed and hawed a little before answering. "I was powdering my nose. There's nothing odd about that, is there?"
Mr. Ackerman answered instead. "No, but didn't Mr. Boyette believe you to be at the punch bowl?"
Every trace of the blush disappeared from Miss Blyde's face. "How did you—?" She looked over at Mr. Ackerman for the first time since entering the room. "How dare you!" she spat. "How dare you accuse me of this nonsense."
Ackerman's eyes narrowed. "You have been caught in two lies tonight, madam. The truth would be refreshing."
"Two lies?" she parroted.
"Ackerman," said King in a tone of warning.
"Isn't it true that you and the late Miss Smithe were after the same man? That you weren't close friends at all?"
"I never!" she cried.
"Enough," King roared. "Mr. Ackerman, if you continue to interrupt me, I shall see you behind bars."
With a shrug, Mr. Ackerman lowered his notebook and said, "Very well, Inspector. I shall behave myself."
Inspector King turned back to Miss Blyde. "A thousand apologies, Madam. It shall not happen again."
"I should think not," she said.
"Might I ask one polite question?"
At this, the woman sat up more straightly in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes?"
"Where were you doing missions work in Africa?"
Miss Blyde crinkled her brow. "I've never been. Why?"
"Oh, you have a hint of a foreign accent in your voice. One often picks up that sort of thing when one visits different countries. I was merely curious, having traveled to South Africa recently myself."
Miss Blyde nodded stiffly, as if she did not approve of such travels.
Inspector King crossed and uncrossed his legs, then scribbled something down on his notepad. "Why indeed? Grayson."
A reliable yet shabby-looking police sergeant stepped forward. "Yes, sir?"
"Fetch Miss Blyde, will you, please? Thank you. Now, Mr. Boyette, why did you wish to kill your fiancée?"
Boyette frowned. "Kill Ethne? Are you mad? It's Miss Smithe that's dead, isn't it?"
The inspector smiled and folded his fingers together. "Yes, it is Miss Smithe, God rest her soul. The point—" There was a knock on the door. "Come in, Grayson. The point, Mr. Boyette, is this: Miss Smithe pretended to be your betrothed, for goodness knows what petty reason. You believed her, slipped something into her punch and here we are. The question is 'why'?"
"Sir, I—"
"You had the opportunity: A crowded party, noise, distractions."
"I didn't do it! You must believe me, Inspector; I would never harm Ethne Blyde. I love her."
King nodded. "Love. Love can do funny things to a fellow." He turned to the door. "Ah, Grayson. I see you brought the girl." His eyes traveled to another gentleman who had also entered the room. "What's this?"
"Mr. African, sir," said Grayson.
"Ackerman, actually, sir," the man said.
Grayson rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir; he said he wanted to help, and he was very persistent."
"Every Tom, Dick, and Harry thinks he can solve a murder." King waved them away with an inky hand. "Tell him to leave; I don't need some old fool getting in the way and muddling things up for me."
Mr. Ackerman gave a bow and said, "Sir, please do not think I'm an interfering busybody. You see, I was the chief inspector in charge of the original X Murder case."
The confusion on Miss Blyde and Mr. Boyette's faces was nothing to the surprise on Grayson's stubbly mug. King, however, grunted and pointed to the leather armchair opposite him. "Miss Blyde, you may have a seat there. Mr. Grayson, take Mr. Boyette into another room; I'll send for you both again when I'm ready. And… Ackerman, was it?"
"At your service," said Ackerman.
"We'll see. You may take the window seat. Now, Miss Blyde, tell me truthfully: Why were you and Miss Smithe dressed in an identical manner?"
Miss Blyde, now without wig and mask, took the seat offered her. "The truth? I don't know."
"You don't know what the truth is, my dear?" In an identical movement, King and Ackerman drew a notepad from their inner jacket pockets.
"No, no, I know what the truth is, and the truth is this: I don't know why she dressed like I did. We're good friends."
Inspector King looked at the pale-faced beauty, sitting tall and straight before him. One of her hands clutched to the armrest, while the other rested a pointed finger against her lower lip. King jotted down a few letters next to the woman's name, letters that would be gibberish to another. "Please, continue."
"Well, I told her what I was wearing tonight. She obviously copied me purposely."
"Do you know what possible motive she might have had?"
For a moment, Miss Blyde looked like she had no answer to the question, then burst out suddenly: "She's jealous. That's why she did it. Erik told me he thought that Kathryn was I when she came from the punch bowl."
"And where were you when Miss Smithe was getting punch?"
A blush came over her pale features, and she hemmed and hawed a little before answering. "I was powdering my nose. There's nothing odd about that, is there?"
Mr. Ackerman answered instead. "No, but didn't Mr. Boyette believe you to be at the punch bowl?"
Every trace of the blush disappeared from Miss Blyde's face. "How did you—?" She looked over at Mr. Ackerman for the first time since entering the room. "How dare you!" she spat. "How dare you accuse me of this nonsense."
Ackerman's eyes narrowed. "You have been caught in two lies tonight, madam. The truth would be refreshing."
"Two lies?" she parroted.
"Ackerman," said King in a tone of warning.
"Isn't it true that you and the late Miss Smithe were after the same man? That you weren't close friends at all?"
"I never!" she cried.
"Enough," King roared. "Mr. Ackerman, if you continue to interrupt me, I shall see you behind bars."
With a shrug, Mr. Ackerman lowered his notebook and said, "Very well, Inspector. I shall behave myself."
Inspector King turned back to Miss Blyde. "A thousand apologies, Madam. It shall not happen again."
"I should think not," she said.
"Might I ask one polite question?"
At this, the woman sat up more straightly in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes?"
"Where were you doing missions work in Africa?"
Miss Blyde crinkled her brow. "I've never been. Why?"
"Oh, you have a hint of a foreign accent in your voice. One often picks up that sort of thing when one visits different countries. I was merely curious, having traveled to South Africa recently myself."
Miss Blyde nodded stiffly, as if she did not approve of such travels.
October 27, 2014
As a Dog Returneth (a Serial): Part III
The chattering had increased in volume, and more persons forced their way into the room, some heading for the punch bowl, and others searching out acquaintances.
"Inspector Ackerman," said a booming voice that caused half the room to stop and stare.
Mr. Ackerman winced. How'd he know it was I?
"Oh, right, Mr. Ackerman. Forgive me," said the friar, who now stood beside him. "You perhaps don't remember, but I'm Reverend Martin Vervain. I administered the Last Rites right here, in this room, ten years ago—to the day, come to think of it. Sad business, really sad business."
Inclining his head, Ackerman smiled and took a sip of punch.
"And I haven't noticed you in church since." The man shot him a stern look, then broke down in laughter. "It's all right; we all lose our faith at some point along the way. It's understandable in your case."
Ackerman raised both his eyebrows. "Is that so?"
Reverend Vervain gave a wry smile. "Well, what I mean to say is, the X Murderer has given you quite a bit of trouble."
"That he did. But no more. I am retired." Ackerman returned the smile and waved the matter away. "So, has the ministry been keeping you busy?"
"Busy? I should daresay it's been running me all over the place. I just returned from a missions trip to Africa with a group of volunteers. A few of them are at the party this evening, in fact."
"Still fighting for souls?"
"Oh, yes." The reverend rubbed his hands together and laughed. "The harvest is ripe for picking."
"Leave me alone!"
"Ethne, are you all right?" asked the gentleman dressed as a peacock. He pursued his partner across the room.
As the lady passed, Ackerman noted that she was rather pale in the face, and her blue gown was stained with perspiration marks.
"I'm not Ethne," she gasped, then dropped to the ground. She convulsed several times and was still.
"Out of the way!" Ackerman yelled. He pushed through the throng of people and dropped next to the girl.
"I don't understand," said the peacock, ripping his mask away. "She left for the punch bowl a few minutes ago, and came back looking like—"
"Quiet!" Ackerman listened for the girl's breathing and felt for a pulse; nothing. "Does anyone here know how to perform chest compressions?"
There was more murmuring.
"Never mind," he snapped. He pressed one hand over the other on the woman's chest and proceeded to apply and remove direct, hard pressure to the ribcage. For nearly five minutes he went on like this, until…
"I've just rung for the doctor," cried a middle-aged woman.
"You're too late," Ackerman panted, looking at his watch. It was five thirty-nine. "She's dead."
The silence was broken at once.
"Dead?"
"What?"
"How?"
Ackerman rose. "Do not touch the body," he roared at the dead woman's beau. "And do not leave this house. That goes for everyone."
"Erik? What's going on?" someone cried.
A woman wearing a blue gown and a feline-esque mask pushed her way through the crowd.
"Ethne?" said the beau, whose gaze flitted between the woman on the floor and the woman in the crowd.
Ackerman looked at the X scratched into the floor. He blinked. “Of course,” he thought. “Of course.”
___
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"Inspector Ackerman," said a booming voice that caused half the room to stop and stare.
Mr. Ackerman winced. How'd he know it was I?
"Oh, right, Mr. Ackerman. Forgive me," said the friar, who now stood beside him. "You perhaps don't remember, but I'm Reverend Martin Vervain. I administered the Last Rites right here, in this room, ten years ago—to the day, come to think of it. Sad business, really sad business."
Inclining his head, Ackerman smiled and took a sip of punch.
"And I haven't noticed you in church since." The man shot him a stern look, then broke down in laughter. "It's all right; we all lose our faith at some point along the way. It's understandable in your case."
Ackerman raised both his eyebrows. "Is that so?"
Reverend Vervain gave a wry smile. "Well, what I mean to say is, the X Murderer has given you quite a bit of trouble."
"That he did. But no more. I am retired." Ackerman returned the smile and waved the matter away. "So, has the ministry been keeping you busy?"
"Busy? I should daresay it's been running me all over the place. I just returned from a missions trip to Africa with a group of volunteers. A few of them are at the party this evening, in fact."
"Still fighting for souls?"
"Oh, yes." The reverend rubbed his hands together and laughed. "The harvest is ripe for picking."
"Leave me alone!"
"Ethne, are you all right?" asked the gentleman dressed as a peacock. He pursued his partner across the room.
As the lady passed, Ackerman noted that she was rather pale in the face, and her blue gown was stained with perspiration marks.
"I'm not Ethne," she gasped, then dropped to the ground. She convulsed several times and was still.
"Out of the way!" Ackerman yelled. He pushed through the throng of people and dropped next to the girl.
"I don't understand," said the peacock, ripping his mask away. "She left for the punch bowl a few minutes ago, and came back looking like—"
"Quiet!" Ackerman listened for the girl's breathing and felt for a pulse; nothing. "Does anyone here know how to perform chest compressions?"
There was more murmuring.
"Never mind," he snapped. He pressed one hand over the other on the woman's chest and proceeded to apply and remove direct, hard pressure to the ribcage. For nearly five minutes he went on like this, until…
"I've just rung for the doctor," cried a middle-aged woman.
"You're too late," Ackerman panted, looking at his watch. It was five thirty-nine. "She's dead."
The silence was broken at once.
"Dead?"
"What?"
"How?"
Ackerman rose. "Do not touch the body," he roared at the dead woman's beau. "And do not leave this house. That goes for everyone."
"Erik? What's going on?" someone cried.
A woman wearing a blue gown and a feline-esque mask pushed her way through the crowd.
"Ethne?" said the beau, whose gaze flitted between the woman on the floor and the woman in the crowd.
Ackerman looked at the X scratched into the floor. He blinked. “Of course,” he thought. “Of course.”
___
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October 26, 2014
As a Dog Returnetth (a Serial): Part II
Two identically-dressed women stood in opposite corners of the room. Their deep blue gowns matched down to the gold thread and bunched up ruffles. The black masks were of the same feline curves and points. Their hair was the same. The only difference Ackerman could detect was in the women's attitudes. While the lady on the left spoke animatedly to a fat friar, whose hood had just slipped, the lady on the right stood rigid and quiet with a peacock one could only assume to be her beau.
Ackerman smiled. No one had given him more than a look.
As he ladled punch into a crystal glass, he heard the woman with the friar say, "—Stupid cow; it serves her right. She stole him right from under me!"
The friar puffed out his chest and shook his head. "Really, Miss Smithe; show some grace, and mind your language."
The girl drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. "Forgive me, Reverend. I forgot who I was talking to." Her eyes flitted to the punch bowl and then to her costume "twin." "Why don't you have a seat, and I'll fetch you some punch."
"A lovely gesture, Miss Smithe; but I'm afraid I shall not be indulging tonight. Drinking aggravates the ulcer, you know."
Not pausing to listen to the girl's subsequent fussing, Ackerman sat down several feet away on the window seat.
The women in the middle of the room now turned their attention to the instrument in the corner. Ackerman hoped they wouldn't pry and remove the cover, though he knew the bloodstains had been wiped clean.
The grouping was too far away for him to make out what they were saying, but they all seemed absorbed. What a bunch of old biddies,Ackerman said to himself.
He sipped his punch and let his gaze wander around the entire party. “Dull as tombs,” he thought. Drier than this punch, even.He thought of the flask in his hip pocket and sighed; he really oughtn't. Alcohol always gave him that strange prickly sensation in the back of his neck.
It was nearing five twenty when the doorbell rang, and a group of six women and three men were shown inside. There were several gasps followed by a whirlwind of whispers; they had spied the piano as well.
Ackerman spied something else: A stray medicine bottle near one of the piano legs. As he went to retrieve it, in respect for the homeowners, a gaggle of women swooped down upon the instrument. He pocketed the bottle and paused to listen.
"Is that it?" a witch asked an orange cat.
The cat nodded her blonde head and pointed a gloved hand. "Yes, but it was in the center of the room when they found her."
"Was she really—"
"Stuffed half inside?" a flamingo finished for her. "Yes, my dear; it's sad but true." The woman fluttered a fan and dabbed her brow. "I was there that afternoon, you know. What a sad way to go, strangled with a piano string in one's own home. Poor, dear Mildred."
"You must be very brave to speak of this, Mrs. Dent."
So, that was Gillian Cartwright—wife of the now-deceased millionaire, Lucius Dent. She had been one of Ackerman's main suspects in the Prewitt murder. She had had the motive: Greed. Aunt Prewitt left her a hefty sum, though the estate itself had been left to her nephew, Philip Janson and his wife, Martha. The Jansons had been suspects at first but, along with Miss Cartwright, they had a solid alibi. And that was before the "X" symbols began showing up all over Lena and Amherst.Ackerman moved away before he could be recognized.
______
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Ackerman smiled. No one had given him more than a look.
As he ladled punch into a crystal glass, he heard the woman with the friar say, "—Stupid cow; it serves her right. She stole him right from under me!"
The friar puffed out his chest and shook his head. "Really, Miss Smithe; show some grace, and mind your language."
The girl drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. "Forgive me, Reverend. I forgot who I was talking to." Her eyes flitted to the punch bowl and then to her costume "twin." "Why don't you have a seat, and I'll fetch you some punch."
"A lovely gesture, Miss Smithe; but I'm afraid I shall not be indulging tonight. Drinking aggravates the ulcer, you know."
Not pausing to listen to the girl's subsequent fussing, Ackerman sat down several feet away on the window seat.
The women in the middle of the room now turned their attention to the instrument in the corner. Ackerman hoped they wouldn't pry and remove the cover, though he knew the bloodstains had been wiped clean.
The grouping was too far away for him to make out what they were saying, but they all seemed absorbed. What a bunch of old biddies,Ackerman said to himself.
He sipped his punch and let his gaze wander around the entire party. “Dull as tombs,” he thought. Drier than this punch, even.He thought of the flask in his hip pocket and sighed; he really oughtn't. Alcohol always gave him that strange prickly sensation in the back of his neck.
It was nearing five twenty when the doorbell rang, and a group of six women and three men were shown inside. There were several gasps followed by a whirlwind of whispers; they had spied the piano as well.
Ackerman spied something else: A stray medicine bottle near one of the piano legs. As he went to retrieve it, in respect for the homeowners, a gaggle of women swooped down upon the instrument. He pocketed the bottle and paused to listen.
"Is that it?" a witch asked an orange cat.
The cat nodded her blonde head and pointed a gloved hand. "Yes, but it was in the center of the room when they found her."
"Was she really—"
"Stuffed half inside?" a flamingo finished for her. "Yes, my dear; it's sad but true." The woman fluttered a fan and dabbed her brow. "I was there that afternoon, you know. What a sad way to go, strangled with a piano string in one's own home. Poor, dear Mildred."
"You must be very brave to speak of this, Mrs. Dent."
So, that was Gillian Cartwright—wife of the now-deceased millionaire, Lucius Dent. She had been one of Ackerman's main suspects in the Prewitt murder. She had had the motive: Greed. Aunt Prewitt left her a hefty sum, though the estate itself had been left to her nephew, Philip Janson and his wife, Martha. The Jansons had been suspects at first but, along with Miss Cartwright, they had a solid alibi. And that was before the "X" symbols began showing up all over Lena and Amherst.Ackerman moved away before he could be recognized.
______
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October 25, 2014
As a Dog Returneth (A Serial): Part I
"As a dog returneth to its vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly." The words forced their way into Eugene Ackerman's mind as he strolled up the walk to Prewitt Manor. Time had hardly touched the place over the past ten years. The only thing that stood out to Ackerman as different was the stone marker over a patch of unkempt grass.
Could it be Mildred Prewitt's final resting place?
Ackerman tore his eyes from the sight and rang the doorbell two times in quick succession. Before anyone could answer, he slipped a domino mask over his eyes and removed the invitation from his pocket.
"You are cordially invited to attend the Lena Historical Society's first annual Halloween Masquerade Ball. Date: The thirty-first of October, 1899; Time: 5:00 PM; Place: Prewitt Manor on North Ridge. Please come dressed in attire appropriate to a masquerade."
Standing there, Ackerman wondered if he would have done better to come in full costume. Before he could change his mind and turn around, the door opened.
"Inspector Ackerman!" the maid cried.
Ackerman stared at her. "How did you know?"
"Your hair! It was always sticking up in funny places. You haven't changed a bit."
Betsy Miller had hardly changed either. She had the same dirty face and wrinkled half-apron; and she wore the same wide-eyed expression that she had ten years ago.
"Mr. Ackerman, actually," Ackerman said in what he hoped was a jovial voice.
The woman blinked. "Oh, so you've retired, then?" Before he could give an affirmative, she stood aside and said, "Don't let me keep you out in this cold, Inspector. Just let me take your coat and you can join the party." She helped Ackerman out of his coat and offered to take his gray gloves.
"I'll hold onto them, thank you," he said.
The maid shot him a quizzical look, but made no comment. "You're one of the first to arrive, I must say. Those that are already here are in the drawing room. You remember where that is."
Of course he did.
As he walked past the grand staircase and ducked through the entryway, he made quick mental notes of the changes that had occurred. The grand piano was no longer displayed in the middle of the floor, but was shoved off in a corner and covered with a dust cloth. Also, the crowd of masqueraders now populating the room replaced the swarm of mourners, reporters, investigators and suspects.
Three women stood grouped in the middle of the room. One was dressed in white and wore a silver mask with matching silver wings. Another wore a light green dress and a gold domino mask; what she was supposed to be escaped Ackerman. The third woman was dressed in the most shocking red. Red dress, red mask, red horns… Blood-red, he thought with a shudder and looked elsewhere.
___
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Could it be Mildred Prewitt's final resting place?
Ackerman tore his eyes from the sight and rang the doorbell two times in quick succession. Before anyone could answer, he slipped a domino mask over his eyes and removed the invitation from his pocket.
"You are cordially invited to attend the Lena Historical Society's first annual Halloween Masquerade Ball. Date: The thirty-first of October, 1899; Time: 5:00 PM; Place: Prewitt Manor on North Ridge. Please come dressed in attire appropriate to a masquerade."
Standing there, Ackerman wondered if he would have done better to come in full costume. Before he could change his mind and turn around, the door opened.
"Inspector Ackerman!" the maid cried.
Ackerman stared at her. "How did you know?"
"Your hair! It was always sticking up in funny places. You haven't changed a bit."
Betsy Miller had hardly changed either. She had the same dirty face and wrinkled half-apron; and she wore the same wide-eyed expression that she had ten years ago.
"Mr. Ackerman, actually," Ackerman said in what he hoped was a jovial voice.
The woman blinked. "Oh, so you've retired, then?" Before he could give an affirmative, she stood aside and said, "Don't let me keep you out in this cold, Inspector. Just let me take your coat and you can join the party." She helped Ackerman out of his coat and offered to take his gray gloves.
"I'll hold onto them, thank you," he said.
The maid shot him a quizzical look, but made no comment. "You're one of the first to arrive, I must say. Those that are already here are in the drawing room. You remember where that is."
Of course he did.
As he walked past the grand staircase and ducked through the entryway, he made quick mental notes of the changes that had occurred. The grand piano was no longer displayed in the middle of the floor, but was shoved off in a corner and covered with a dust cloth. Also, the crowd of masqueraders now populating the room replaced the swarm of mourners, reporters, investigators and suspects.
Three women stood grouped in the middle of the room. One was dressed in white and wore a silver mask with matching silver wings. Another wore a light green dress and a gold domino mask; what she was supposed to be escaped Ackerman. The third woman was dressed in the most shocking red. Red dress, red mask, red horns… Blood-red, he thought with a shudder and looked elsewhere.
___
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October 24, 2014
Win a Calligraphy Set! (US only)
Starting tomorrow, I'll begin posting a Halloween short story in segments. 'Tis the season, after all ;-)
What's in it for you, though, besides a free read? Well, you could win some stuff... (ETA - formatting is weird. Each prize comes with a signed post card, 'cept for the e-book.)
+
or
+
or
So, what do you have to do to win one of these prizes? Comment on one or all of the story entries to be entered into a random drawing. The more story entries you comment on, the more your name goes into the virtual hat.
All entrants must be 18 years of age or older in order to be eligible for the first two prizes. To win a e-copy of In a Pickle, no such restrictions apply, but you must have a working email address.
Enter until 11:59:59 PM on October 31st, 2014. Entrants will be chosen and notified the first week of November. Prizes will be shipped ASAP.
Happy reading!
What's in it for you, though, besides a free read? Well, you could win some stuff... (ETA - formatting is weird. Each prize comes with a signed post card, 'cept for the e-book.)
+
or
+
or
So, what do you have to do to win one of these prizes? Comment on one or all of the story entries to be entered into a random drawing. The more story entries you comment on, the more your name goes into the virtual hat.
All entrants must be 18 years of age or older in order to be eligible for the first two prizes. To win a e-copy of In a Pickle, no such restrictions apply, but you must have a working email address.
Enter until 11:59:59 PM on October 31st, 2014. Entrants will be chosen and notified the first week of November. Prizes will be shipped ASAP.
Happy reading!
October 23, 2014
Book Lover's Gift List
Have a bibliophile in your life? Here are some gift ideas for ya...
Novel-Teas - These bags o' English Breakfast tea each come with a different literary quote on them. Available from Amazon for $14.95 (for 25 bags in a nice box.)
Bathtub Caddy - This contraption is made out of bamboo and chrome, and sits across your tub with arms resting on either side. It has a book prop, and a place to put your wine glass. You can get it from Amazon for $43.25 (as of 9/9/14.)
Book Lover's Scrabble - Self-explanatory. I don't know if they make it any more, but I found it on Amazon for $29.99 (as of 9/9/14.)
Barnes and Noble gift card
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Okay, bibliophiles: What is YOUR ideal gift?
Novel-Teas - These bags o' English Breakfast tea each come with a different literary quote on them. Available from Amazon for $14.95 (for 25 bags in a nice box.)
Bathtub Caddy - This contraption is made out of bamboo and chrome, and sits across your tub with arms resting on either side. It has a book prop, and a place to put your wine glass. You can get it from Amazon for $43.25 (as of 9/9/14.)
Book Lover's Scrabble - Self-explanatory. I don't know if they make it any more, but I found it on Amazon for $29.99 (as of 9/9/14.)
Barnes and Noble gift card
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Okay, bibliophiles: What is YOUR ideal gift?
October 16, 2014
The Foodie - A Gift List
Having trouble knowing what to get the food junkie in your life? I have some suggestions...
The Foodie Wishlist
1. Cuisinart Frozen Yogurt-Ice Cream and Sorbet Maker - I own one of these babies, and they work just great. If you let the ice cream sit too long after making, though, it really freezes to the sides of the bowl. You may need additional time to freeze the ice cream (out of the maker's bowl and in containers) to get the desired consistency. Available from Amazon in a variety of colors, starting at $49.93 (as of 9/7/14.)
2. Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream at Home - This ice cream cookbook is full of all kinds of interesting/yummy-looking recipes (no eggs!) Available from Barnes and Noble for $14.42 (as of 9/7/14) and Amazon. (I own this cookbook, but have only tried the chocolate recipe. My mom tried the Lime Cardamom and said it was wonderful!)
3. Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan - A fascinating read on the techniques and essentials of Italian cooking. Oh, and there are some yummy-sounding recipes as well. Available from Barnes and Noble at $21.08 (as of 9/7/14.)
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What's your favorite cookbook?
October 11, 2014
The NaNoWriMo Playlist '14
Anyone else participating in National Novel Writing Month? I am! Here's my playlist for the month of November (yes, I realize I accidentally doubled up on some songs...and this isn't a complete list. I'm hoping to add some other tunes before October ends):
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Feel free to share your playlist below!
___Feel free to share your playlist below!
October 9, 2014
The Mom-To-Be: A Gift List
As promised, here are some more gift ideas. This time, I'm sharing helpful gifts for moms-to-be...
The Mom Wishlist
1. Belly Bands - These stretchy bands fit around your expanding waistline and help keep your pants up and cover XYZs (examine your zipper.) Available from Amazon starting at $16.95 (as of 9/7/14.)
2. Morning Sickness Soothers - These scented soothers fit into your nostrils and help mask or block odors. My sister used these a few times during her pregnancy, and she found them very useful. Available from the Morning Sickness Soothers website and Amazon in a variety of scents. $14.95 (as of 9/7/14.)
3. Stretch Oil - Earth Mama Angel Baby Stretch Oil is hypoallergenic and is made of all natural oils. It's said to help with itchiness of stretching skin. Available from Amazon in different sizes, starting at $11.79 (as of 9/7/14.)
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Anything any moms out there would like to add?
The Mom Wishlist
1. Belly Bands - These stretchy bands fit around your expanding waistline and help keep your pants up and cover XYZs (examine your zipper.) Available from Amazon starting at $16.95 (as of 9/7/14.)
2. Morning Sickness Soothers - These scented soothers fit into your nostrils and help mask or block odors. My sister used these a few times during her pregnancy, and she found them very useful. Available from the Morning Sickness Soothers website and Amazon in a variety of scents. $14.95 (as of 9/7/14.)
3. Stretch Oil - Earth Mama Angel Baby Stretch Oil is hypoallergenic and is made of all natural oils. It's said to help with itchiness of stretching skin. Available from Amazon in different sizes, starting at $11.79 (as of 9/7/14.)
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Anything any moms out there would like to add?
October 4, 2014
Shelfie!
Here 'tis a gathering (grouping? Gaggle? Flock? Herd? Murder?! Okay, library) of books I really enjoy. This is maybe 1/16 of my collection...
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And a cheeky picture of yours truly:
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And a cheeky picture of yours truly:
