Aya Walksfar's Blog, page 19

THE LITTLE #ANGEL WHO COULDN’T SING

The Little #Angel Who Couldn’t Sing

A History of this story: Many years ago a little boy died only hours after he was born. Benji was Betty’s only child. Betty was an elder who lived with my wife and I until her death from emphysema a few years ago. Like me, Betty was a #writer. Her voice is unique. A couple of weeks before she died, she Gifted all of her work to me. Though #Christianity was Betty’s religion, not mine, we always respected each others’ beliefs.  And I have the greatest respect for Betty’s work.  I hope you enjoy, and share, this beautiful story that Betty wrote. I know she would be pleased.

Written by Betty Matney/edited by Aya Walksfar

Little Angel huddled, shivering and sobbing, in the shadow of a large bank of dirty clouds outside of Heaven’s Gate.  Gusts of cold north wind tugged at his mud-spattered robe and tangled the feathers of his wings, forcing him to burrow deeper into his hiding place.  He knew he should get up and go home, but he couldn’t face his friends.   If it didn’t get any colder, he’d sneak home after dark.

Suddenly, he stopped crying and raised his head to listen.  Voices drifted across the clouds.  He curled into a tighter ball and lay very still.  He didn’t want any of the angels to find him.

A deep voice spoke briskly.  “I tell you I heard someone crying.”

There was a mumbled response Little Angel couldn’t hear very well.

Even closer this time, the deep voice said,  “I know how happy everyone is, but I also know crying when I hear it.”

Whoever it was they were nearly at his bank of clouds.  He covered his head with his wings and held his breath.

Big feet shuffled to a stop and the deep voice said,  “What do we have here?”

He slowly raised his head and peeked over the edge of his wing.  His blue eyes popped wide.  God Himself stood looking down at him.

Holding his long, gray, wind-tossed hair out of His eyes with one hand, He bent over and held His other hand out to the little angel.  “Come out of there, little one.”

He lowered his wing and God pulled him out of his hole.  He stood there, robe wrinkled and dirty, gold halo tilted over his right ear, eyes cast down.  God knelt on one knee.  With a finger under Little Angel’s chin, He lifted his face.  “How old are you, little one?”

He mumbled,  “Seven years old, Sir.”

“So, on the day when joy is almost tearing this old place apart, why are you down here, alone and crying?”  Gently, He wiped the tears away with the end of the green sash wrapped around His waist.

Little Angel bit his trembling lower lip to keep from crying again.

God twisted His head around and looked up at the other adult angel.  “Aren’t all the angels practicing their singing for the performance tonight?”

The other angel looked flustered.  “Yes, Sir.  They are supposed to be, Sir.”

God turned His kindly eyes on Little Angel.  “Does that have something to do with why you’re crying?”

Tears filled his eyes as he nodded.  “I…I can’t…” He sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe.  “I can’t sing!”  Tears spilled down his cheeks.  “The chorus master said I can’t carry a tune.  I should just fly around and hum, but I shouldn’t hum too loud.”  He threw his arm across his face and wailed into his sleeve.  “I don’t want to just hum!  I want to do something important like everyone else!”

God sighed and pushed to His feet.  He patted Little Angel on the head.  “Of course, you do.”

He dropped his arm and stared up at God.  God stood there stroking His thick, white beard.  Finally, God smiled.  He reached over and plucked a few pieces of dirty cloud from the little angel’s red curls.  “You go get cleaned up and meet me at the Pearly Gates in an hour.”

As he took off running, God shouted,  “And straighten up that halo!”

***

Little Angel skidded to a halt in front of God, jolting his halo into a tilt over his right ear.

God reached over and straightened it up.  “You look much better, except you seemed to have missed a few spots on your face.”  God ran a thumb over Little Angel’s cheeks.

He giggled.  “Those are freckles.”

God smiled.  “Ah, so they are.”

He fidgeted.

God chuckled.  “Anxious to find out what you’re doing?  Frankly,”  God’s Voice got very serious.  “I don’t know how we overlooked this task.  It is very important.”

He lifted his chin and drew his shoulders back.

“Do you have your sack of stardust?”

He nodded and lifted the small, red velvet sack hanging from the robe’s tie.

God leaned over and whispered in his ear.

His wings drooped.  “The donkey?  That’s a dumb job.”

God frowned.  “Remember who the donkey is carrying.  But, the donkey is small, so it is important that he have some help with his burden.  Will you help him?”

Little Angel looked up at God with wide eyes.  “Yes, sir.”  He took off running towards a hole in the clouds that would let him drop to earth quickly.  Just as he was diving through, God yelled,  “And straighten up that halo!”

***

Little Angel stood on the side of the road leading to Bethlehem.  Overhead a zillion stars shone, but down here it was dark and cold.  He shivered and pulled his wings around himself.

From around a curve in the road hooves clip-clopped along the frozen ground.  The small donkey staggered a few  steps before it caught itself.  A woman wrapped in a blue cape rode the small creature while a man with a staff walked beside them.  The man walked slowly, now and then patting the donkey’s short neck.  “What a brave little beast you are.”

The donkey’s winter coat was long and fuzzy and very black.  Patches of white hair that matched the hair on its belly, filled its long ears.  It was young, not much more than a baby, really.  And so tired that sometimes its nose dragged the ground.

As the three drew alongside Little Angel, the donkey stopped.  The man rubbed its ears and stood beside it.

Little Angel walked over and placed a hand on its halter.  The donkey lifted big dark eyes to him and groaned.  “I don’t know how much longer I can go on.”

“I will help you.”  Little Angel took the red sack from his belt and knelt.  He dipped his fingertips inside.  When he took them out, they shone with silvery powder.  He swiftly rubbed all four hooves with the silvery powder. “Take a few steps and see if that helps.  Bethlehem is just over that hill.” He pointed towards a  small hill in the distance.

The donkey nodded.  “I’ll try.”  As he stepped forward, he added,  “Your halo’s crooked.”

He straightened up his halo as the donkey took the first short, slow steps.  The donkey twitched its long ears and gave a joyful bray.  “My feet don’t hurt!”

Little Angel jogged next to the donkey as it trotted along the road, nimbly skirting the frozen puddles.

Very soon they reached Bethlehem.  Little Angel waited beside the donkey as the man inquired for a room at inn after inn.  Every place was full until, finally, only one inn was left.  The man sagged with fatigue as he walked to the last door.

The donkey sighed as the man stood talking to the landlord.  “I need something to eat and some water and a place to rest pretty soon. My feet are hurting again.”

Little Angel hugged the donkey.  “I’m sure this is the place we are to stop.  There’s a stable out back.”   He turned and looked at the woman sitting quietly on the donkey.  Her body was bent with tiredness.  He was really glad she hadn’t had to walk.  He turned and gave the donkey another hug.  “You are so brave,” he whispered.

The donkey raised his black nose to Little Angel’s ear.  “The woman’s going to have a baby.  I didn’t think she could walk very far, so I had to try to keep walking for her.”  The donkey sighed.  “Did you know about the baby?”

Little Angel scratched the donkey’s ear.  “Yes, I knew about the baby.”

When the man returned, he led the donkey to the stable behind the inn.  He helped the woman off and spread his own cloak over her as she lay down on a pile of straw.  After she was settled, he took the donkey into another stall to feed and water the animal before returning to the woman, his wife.

Little Angel sat in the corner of the stall as the donkey ate and then tucked his legs under himself to lay down.  “Don’t sleep too soundly,” Little Angel cautioned.  “The celebration will be starting soon.”

He had just finished speaking when a baby cried.  Little Angel rushed to the wall and peeked through the space between two boards.  His eyes widened as the man wrapped the baby in a warm blanket and laid it in the manger next to where the woman lay.  The man stood between the manger and the woman, smiling first at one and then at the other.  The woman’s face shone with happiness as she gazed at her husband and then at the Infant Boy.

The donkey stood next to Little angel, staring through the crack.  “She’s had her baby.”

From far away and above them, singing drifted on the air.  The donkey looked up.  “What’s that?”

A grin stretched Little Angel’s face as he looked up, too.  “That is the angels singing to the shepherds out in the hills.  They are telling them to come to the stable and behold the Child that was born.”

He dropped his eyes to the donkey.  “I have to leave now.”

The donkey nodded.  “Thank you.  I don’t know if I could have made it all this way by myself.”

He gave the donkey a warm hug around its shaggy neck.  “Everyone needs help sometimes.”

As Little Angel flew upwards, the donkey called,  “Hey!  Your halo is….”

He raised both hands and straightened his halo as he flew into the night.  In the distance he heard the final chorus and, all alone, Little Angel began to hum.  As he flew higher, his humming grew louder until, unable to contain his joy, he burst into song.  In a loud, happy voice, and slightly off-key, he added his own heavenly welcome to the Baby lying in the manger.

The End

What are some of your favorite Christmas stories/holiday stories? Would love to hear! Leave a comment!

For more information of Aya and her work:

Visit Aya at http://www.facebook.com/ayawalksfar

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Good Intentions

Bev Ransom thinks her life can’t get any worse after her father dies unexpectedly. At least she has her friend and employer, Rene Lawson, an intriguing older woman whose past is shrouded in mystery. Then, on a day like any other, Bev goes to work and by evening, Rene is dead. Devastated and unable to let go of another loved one, Bev becomes obsessed with unraveling the mysteries that surrounded Rene. When she uncovers a twenty-year old secret, Bev’s world is shattered. Is there anyone she can trust?

Buy the book here:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/good-intentions-aya-walksfar/1117075745?ean=2940045313094

https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/good-intentions/id721950827?mt=11

Good Intentions

Dead Men and Cats

The quiet, agricultural community of Shadow Island is suddenly beset by violence. A dead man and a live calico kitten are discovered floating in an old rowboat in Shallow Point Cove. Then Dan Uley’s bookstore is firebombed. With a black cat. Both men were gay. Sheriff Johnson, known to have harsh feelings toward gays, makes no progress in catching the culprit. Megan Albright and Janie Sampson, a lesbian couple and long-time residents, fear the rash of violence is not over, and question the sheriff’s commitment to investigating the crimes. When their friend, Dan, is gruesomely murdered, they know time is running out to find this killer for there is no telling who will be the next to die. But, they never thought the trail would lead to a well-liked young man.

Buy the book here:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dead-men-and-cats-aya-walksfar/1114142759?ean=2940044528277

Dead Men & Cats

Reviews

Review by: Cate Agosta on July 26, 2013 :

This novella is a debut work for this Author. I also have to mention for those overly sensitive folks again, that this book does deal with matters relating to the LGBT community, so if you have issues with sexual orientation you may not want to read further. Regardless, or even because of this, I feel this Author may well be on their way to having their book spines rubbing covers with Hazel Holt and Laura Childs in the cozy mystery genre.

This is a cozy mystery of the best kind in this genre that I have read in a long time. The main character leads are both women, life partners, who just fit so comfortably into the role that this type of book demands of its ‘heroines’. They are both extremely well written and well developed characters, with their back stories being leaked to us bit by bit as we progress through the novella. There is no sudden rush of information, and no changing of the pace of the way of life these characters live, and at which pace the book was written. They were so well written I wanted to drop by and visit with them, the next time I headed North through WA State; they were the kind of people I would gladly count as my friends, and enjoy becoming involved in adventures with.

The descriptions of the Puget Sound and surrounding area were exactly as they are in reality. I live in this area so I was able to visualise where things were, or intended to be. I could see the areas of Seattle that were described; walking the streets and driving the causeway over to the Islands.

Like all books of this genre, it is fast paced and laced with twists and turns that make you think. The Author also puts a lot of emphasis on her plot development, which is apparent throughout. This is a gentle book with no graphic violence, profanity or explicit sexual scenes, and with the deaths contained within its pages happening out of the pages, instead of us having to live through each gruelling blow. This novella does have one major difference to the usual cozy mystery, and that is the victims did not deserve to die. To go into this more would be to have reveal spoilers, so to find out exactly what I mean you will have to read the novella.

I would highly recommend this book to all lovers of the mystery genre, cozy or not, as it is a fast paced novella, with several twists leading to a surprising conclusion. I am looking forward to seeing if the female leads in this novella make an appearance in future works by this Author.

Originally reviewed on: http://catesbooknuthut.wordpress.com/2013/07/26/review-dead-men-cats-aya-tsi-scuceblu-walksfar/

(reviewed within a month of purchase)

Review by: Elizabeth A. Garcia on May 13, 2013 :

I enjoyed this well-written story. The characters are believable, and you get a feel for them right away. I am in awe of how the author developed such a good mystery in so few words. That is a sign of a very talented writer. I will be anxiously awaiting the next one!

(reviewed within a week of purchase)

Review by: K R Morrison on May 10, 2013 :

Shadow Island is such a peaceful place to live. Not on the regular tourist routes, it is a safe, quiet place for its denizens to live and love as they wish.

Until the hate crimes start.

A cat with its fur on fire, let loose in a bookstore.

A man found dead in a rowboat, a small calico kitten desperately clinging to safety.

And the worst thing, a well-known and well-loved businessman found murdered in his home, a cruelly-mutilated cat strewn across his body.

Who is doing these heinous things in such a peaceful place? And, since the local sheriff has voiced negative opinions about the targets of these crimes, can he be considered a good choice for finding and bringing in the murderers?

Janie and Megan have their own ideas of who might be responsible, and, even thought they have been friends with the sheriff all their lives, they do not think that he will allow his job duties to overcome his prejudices. They take it on themselves to probe every clue and question every suspect that comes their way.

Questions get answers under their unprofessional yet productive methods, and secrets revealed, until the mystery is solved and Shadow Island can return to its peaceful existence.

This is a brilliantly-written story. I loved the characters; they were so very real. Their relationships, cast in such warm, caring light by the author, was such a wonderful counterbalance to the terrible crimes that were committed. Even everyday actions, such as having dinner, were detailed out in such a way as to make the reader feel at home. Safe.

The crimes could have been committed against any group of people who seem different due to color, gender, foreign origins, etc. What the big thing is, and what the story relates, is this: love will still conquer all. No amount of bullying or hate crimes will ever change that.

(reviewed the day of purchase)

Denise Beaumont reviewed Dead Men & Cats

A Good Read Novella October 19, 2013
Had a hard time putting this novella down once I started reading. Aya tells a good story with mystery to it that keeps you guessing until the end about “who done it?” Am looking forward to reading many more by this author.

Author Chantal Bellehumeur reviewed Dead Men & Cats
Well writen novel August 22, 2013
Aya is a very good writer who knows how to bring her characters to life. She also describes scenery with the perfect words. I enjoyed reading this touching murder mystery. I just have to point out that this particular book deals with homosexual matters, so I only recommend it for those who are capable of keeping an open mind about sexual orientation.

Joyce Hertzoff reviewed Dead Men & Cats
Terrific mystery August 12, 2013
The mystery is intriguing, and so are the characters. What’s the connection between the dead men and cats in this town in the northwest?I recommend this great read by Aya Walksfar.

Margaret Minetti reviewed Dead Men & Cats
wonderful book July 16, 2013
well written and thought out, enjoyed it very much. author doesn’t talk down to reader, but explains details well.good job.
pwindsinspirations reviewed Dead Men & Cats



Very good suspense thriller June 22, 2013
This book will have you staying up to finish it. The author knows how to keep you turning pages! I can’t wait to see more written by her!


booklover “booklover” reviewed Dead Men & Cats
Fun, fast mystery! May 13, 2013
I enjoyed this well-written story. The characters are believable, and you get a feel for them right away. I am in awe of how the author developed such a good mystery in so few words. That is a sign of a very talented writer. I will be anxiously awaiting the next one!

Sketch Of a Murder

Wealthy, prominent men sexually mutilated and gruesomely murdered.  Governor Marleton forms a unit, the Special Crimes Team, to take the heat and to hunt down the killer. The unit, seen as the Siberia of law enforcement, is comprised of misfits and loners, cops who’ve pissed somebody off.

Sergeant Nita Slowater, a mixed blood Native American, knew she should never have knocked that reporter on his skinny, white ass. Now she’s stuck as the second-in-command of the Special Crimes Team. As if that isn’t bad enough, her superior, Lieutenant Michael Williams, a black man, is in a constant state of PMS and riding her case.

If they can’t figure out a way to get along, more men will die at the hands of the self-dubbed Avenger.

The only bright spot in Nita’s life is her unlikely friendship with a homeless black woman, Molly the Pack Lady. Then Molly dies and wills her artwork to Nita.

Within the old woman’s art lies the key to the killer’s identity, but will Nita discover it before an innocent man dies?

Buy it here:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sketch-of-a-murder-aya-walksfar/1117236577?ean=2940045338806

https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/sketch-of-a-murder/id731202197?mt=11

Sketch of a Murder (Special Crimes Team)

Good Intention Reviews

Reviews:

I am so proud to receive this review from an author I respected and whose writing I love!

Beth Garcia 7:59pm Oct 21

I just finished Aya Walksfar’s novel, “Good Intentions.” Here is my review. I gave it 5 stars, but my computer doesn’t want to copy that part…

Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase

I enjoyed the writing style used for this novel. It was brilliant to write in the first person from many different points of view. I felt as though I knew and understood each character. Missing pieces of their personal stories were slowly filled in as the plot moved along. There were mysteries, because the reader knows there are things yet to be revealed. Too, it’s a coming-of-age story in many ways; a young woman discovers the truth about herself and about her family and comes to realize that the people who love her are her true family whether or not they share her blood.

I don’t want to spoil the plot for others, so I will just say I agree that love is love is love. Humans should love and support each other no matter what and no matter who we choose to love.

This was a great read by a talented author. Kudos to Aya Walksfar!

FIVE FANTASTIC FINDS!

FIVE FANTASTIC FINDS!

I #lovetoread. Always have. I grew up surrounded by violence and beset by poverty. Reading saved my life. That love of reading has never left me.

Today I would like to share five books that I have enjoyed. Perhaps you will, too.

1. The Reluctant Cowboy by #ElizabethGarcia.  (literary, romance, gay) (http://www.westtxwriter.wordpress.com)

As a lesbian woman, I found The Reluctant Cowboy all too real. The issues faced by Jed Petersen are heartbreaking, yet the way he overcomes them reminds me of courageous people in the #LGBT community that I have known.

I highly recommend this book for its honesty and its integrity. It does not gloss over reality, but takes those realities and creates an inspiring story of love and courage. And Elizabeth Garcia does all of this while weaving an intriguing story. I stayed up all night reading it.

2. The Value of Life  by #AndyCrowson (thriller)(http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/andycrowson)

Young boys are kidnapped. Josef Lindahl , a rookie #detective with a psychology degree, is brought into the case. A ransom note arrives, but there is no monetary amount. That is left up to the parents to decide. Josef believes he knows what the kidnapper wants, but it is guaranteed to cause trouble at police headquarters.

A unique twist to a well-known story line. I love finding books like this.

3. Anathema: Causal Enchantment Series, Book 1 by #K.A.Tucker (paranormal, vampires)(http://www.facebook.com/K.A.Tucker.Author)

Evangeline, a young woman with emotionally distant foster parents and no friends, meets a beautiful older woman, Sofie. Sofie offers what Evangeline craves the most: to connect with someone. She is even willing to overlook Sofie’s erratic and violent behavior, monstrous dogs and terrible nightmares of white-eyed monsters. But what she doesn’t understand could very well get her killed.

Tucker has built complex and interesting characters that I rooted for even when I didn’t like them. I have all three books that are available in this series and anxiously await the final book.

4. The Heat of the Moon by #SandraParshall (Book 1, Rachel Goddard Mysteries)(http://www.sandraparshall.com)

Rachel Goddard, a young veterinarian, is slammed back in time when a client’s dog is hit by a car during a thunderstorm.Flustered, the client leaves her three-year old daughter alone in the clinic’s reception area. The child is  crying, “Mommy! I want Mommy!” when Rachel finds her. The child’s cries trigger a flashback of Rachel with her baby sister, Michelle, abandoned during a thunderstorm at night. Haunted by baffling memories, Rachel seeks the truth behind the flashbacks. Her psychologist mother battles to prevent Rachel’s quest. The heart breaking truth Rachel uncovers forces her to make an unthinkable choice.

Sandra Parshall is a new discovery for me. I am enjoying her books: good  writing, well-developed characters, solid plotlines.

5. The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran (philosophy)

Published September, 1923, this book is considered Gibran’s masterpiece. I discovered it at age 15. For me, it is not so much a masterpiece as it is a book of meditation, a book that forces me to view the world with a different perspective, a book that always enriches me.

One of my favorite passages deals with Gibran’s philosophy about work.

“Work is love made visible.

And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.”

Gibran’s words sit on my heart every time I lay my hands on the keyboard and begin writing. My novels, short stories and poems have indeed been ‘love made visible’.  I hope others find not only entertainment in my work, but also words to take away with them, to turn over in their minds and to perhaps discover a different perspective.

What books do you love?

I would love to hear. Leave a comment here or join me on facebook and share your FANTASTIC FINDS.

Find Aya’s novels at:    http://www.amazon.com/author/ayawalksfar

Sketch of a Murder: The Avenger is killing wealthy prominent men. Sergeant Nita Slowater must work with her  contentious superior, Lieutenant Williams, to stop the killer before an innocent man dies.

Dead Men and Cats: Megan Albright and Janie Sampson, a lesbian couple, must stop a murderer who is targeting gay men and cats.

Good Intentions: Bev Ransom’s best friend and employer, Rene, dies unexpectedly. In her quest to learn more about Rene’s mysterious past, Bev uncovers a twenty-year old secret that devastates her. Who can she trust when no one is who they seem to be?

Visit with Aya on Facebook:   http://www.facebook.com/ayawalksfar

Be sure to stay tuned to Aya’s  blog for updates on novels, author interviews and all things write:  http://www.ayawalksfar.com

GOVERNOR MARLETON CHOOSES HEAD OF #SPECIALCRIMESTEAM

#Governor Andrea Marleton crossed her shapely legs and rested her long, elegant fingers in her lap. She cocked her head to one side and her long, auburn hair swung over her shoulder, framing one side of her oval face. Large, expressive dark eyes studied Lieutenant Michael Williams as he sat on the spindly-legged, antique chair. The only thing in the expensively decorated governor’s library that looked congruent with Mike’s rugged face was the books crowded together on the bookshelves behind him. She glanced at her wristwatch. 8 PM. Her choice of the library in the governor’s mansion was not be accident. The room radiated serious purpose. Mike was a serious man. In her opinion, too serious since his wife Emily died of cancer eight years ago and his police daughter was killed while saving a young girl’s life.

“Mike, let’s be reasonable. You are the logical person to head my Special Crimes Team. You’re a lieutenant and you have maintained the best clearance rate of any homicide #detective in the state of Washington, bar none.”

He carefully shifted in the chair as if afraid that any sudden movement might cause it to shatter. “I am being reasonable, Andrea. I’ve put in my years in law enforcement and it’s time to quit. I’m tired of butting heads with my superiors.”

She chuckled. “As I’m sure they are tired of butting heads with you since you have a knack for doing exactly what you planned to in the first place.” She uncrossed her legs, clasped her hands between her knees and leaned forward. “That’s why this is perfect for you. You answer to no one, except me.” She sat up straight and put her hands out, palms up. “What could be more perfect?”

“Time at home with my son.”

All joviality faded from her face, leaving only the look of determination that her political opponents so dreaded. “I need you to head the team, Mike. Harvey Realto was not only the wealthiest landowner in #Washington State, he was also a big contributor to my last campaign.” She held up a delicate hand when he started to interrupt. “That isn’t the real problem.” She bit her lip, a habit she’d been trying to break. “It’s come out that several months ago he beat a young man who worked on his ranch so badly that the boy will carry several facial scars for the rest of his life. The boy was gay. I didn’t know he was like that, Mike.  You know I don’t hold with that kind of bigotry.”

Mike grunted and glared at her. “Told you that you needed to vet your contributors, Andrea.”

“Gregory…”

“Gregory Whitehall is an incompetent ass.”

“Yes, well.” She sighed and settled against the uncomfortable back of the settee. “He’s a necessary evil. Mike, I’ve gone to bat for you….”

“That was because you owed Eleanor Hastings, big time.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “What will it take to get you to accept? Yes, so far this monster has only murdered two men, both who arguably deserved what they got and worse, both wealthy men who used their positions, power and money to sidestep justice for crimes we all know they committed. But, Mike, what happens when this vigilante doesn’t get the full story before he strikes; what happens when he goes after someone who was perhaps falsely accused? Do you really want an innocent man’s death on your conscience when we both know the best hope we have is for you to head a team whose only goal is to stop this maniac?”

She knew she’d scored when he began rubbing one hand over his hair. Like her lip chewing, it was a telling gesture.

He stood and paced over to the bookshelves, ran a thick finger along the books’ spines. When he turned back to face her, his heavy features were set and she knew whatever he demanded she would have to concede or he would walk away.

“I’ll head your Special Crimes Team, Andrea, but there are conditions. It’s my team. I don’t care who you pick, but they answer to me; not you. No jurisdictional boundaries to stall my investigations. When a case meets the criteria for my team, the other jurisdictions hand over the case; I head it and let them know how they can assist. One crime scene unit on-call for us. If they’re at another scene, too bad. Put it on hold for a different unit. Lab work we need goes to the head of the queue. No special considerations for politicians or wealthy people. Even if I decide I want to investigate you, no one will try to strait-jacket me, got it?”

She nodded, sensing that he wasn’t quite finished.

“Top of the line equipment. Computers, cell phones, digital cameras, whatever we need in technology. You can scrimp on the office furniture.”

When he jammed his hands in his front pockets, she knew he’d finished with his list of demands, nothing she didn’t expect. “I can agree to all of that, Mike. The only thing I want in my control is the media. Let Gregory handle the media. The man is an ass, but he’s the best PR person I’ve ever seen. I swear he could make people believe it’s the dead of night at high noon.”

Mike narrowed his eyes, and for a moment she thought he might balk. “Whitehall can have the media,” he held up one blunt-nailed finger, “unless I feel that it interferes with my investigation. At that point, I will do whatever I feel is necessary, understood?’’

A smile slowly spread across her lips as she stood. He met her in the center of the conversation area and they shook hands over the antique rosewood table. “Understood.”

As he put his hand on the doorknob, he twisted his head and peered over his shoulder. “Andrea, I don’t doubt that you’re sincere about wanting to catch this killer before someone dies who shouldn’t, but I also know if he can’t be caught in a timely fashion that you won’t hesitate to throw me, and my team, to the media wolves.”

She didn’t respond as he stepped out and quietly closed the door. Above everything, she was a political animal, and sometimes that called for distasteful sacrifices. He understood her too well, and sometimes, she hated him for it.

To learn more about the SPECIAL CRIMES TEAM read: SKETCH OF A MURDER, NOW AVAILABLE at http://amzn.to/19omks3

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The above photos of the Governor’s Mansion in Olympia, Washington and the Library in the Governor’s Mansion in Olympia, Washington are from the Washington Governor’s Mansion Foundation at http://www.wagovmansion.org/photogallery/  Many thanks to this great non-profit, non-political organization for all of its efforts toward preservation of Washington State’s heritage.

Review by booklover

5.0 out of 5 stars This is a 5-star murder mystery November 17, 2013
By booklover
Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase

Aya Walksfar has done it again! This is an engaging story with believable characters and a well-thought-out plot. I love stories with strong female characters and this is a good one.

HIS LAST WALK IN THE PARK

SKETCH OF A MURDER  (excerpt from Book 1 Special Crimes Team)

#murdermystery by #AyaWalksfar

PROLOGUE

Dr. James Benning sat at his usual table near the west wall of O’Toole’s Bar and Eatery on Fifteenth. It was eight o’clock on the evening of April 29th. He forked up the last of his New York cheesecake, topped with real strawberries and hand-whipped cream, then leaned back in the brown, padded leather booth, and sighed contentedly as he sipped his coffee. Pure Kona coffee flown in from Hawaii.

It’s over. Ding-dong the bitch is dead, and I’m finally free! He smiled, stood up, tossed some bills on the table, and strutted out of the restaurant. He took a deep breath of the warm night air and strode toward the lot where he’d parked his BMW.

Now to shut up that bitch, Christina Ryan. Really burned her ass that no one could prove I was anywhere near Carkeek Park when Rebecca was beaten. Stupid bitch would still be alive if she’d gotten the abortion, like I told her.   

He spotted the white paper stuck under his windshield wiper while still four stalls from his vehicle. “Damn solicitors. Should be a law to keep them from sticking papers on other people’s cars,” he muttered. When he got to his car, though, he realized the white paper was a business-size envelope. Frowning, he pulled it from beneath the wiper blade.

Meet me at Carkeek Park. You know the place. The same place that you left Rebecca bleeding and dying. Alone. At midnight. I have something that belongs to you. How much do you think the tabloids would pay for the scoop of the year? Mayoral Candidate Murders Ex-Wife.

CR

***   

The half moon threw watery, silver light on the black ribbon of the packed dirt path. Head up, shoulders back, Benning entered a tunnel formed by newly leaved trees.

Snap!

His steps dragged to a halt. Head tilted, he listened. A twig. That was just a twig breaking. But…. Brows furrowed, he turned in a slow circle.

Big-leaf maples loomed overhead, shaggy with small ferns sprouting like wayward clumps of hair in the bends of moss-covered tree arms. Tall bushes grew profusely along the path. More ferns, some three feet tall, grew in wild profusion among the trees.

Nothing. Probably a dog stepping on a dry twig. Enough dogs and twigs around here! 

Pace a little faster, he walked a few feet when he heard it. A rustling. Like someone sneaking through the bushes next to the trail. He stopped, peering from one side to the other along the pathway. “Okay, bitch, come on out. Quit playing your fucking head games.”

The pale green needles of a conifer entwined with the darker green needles of Douglas firs. He stared for a long minute, trying to see through clumps of wiry-limbed bushes heavy with white berries.

Nothing. He gave a half-hearted shrug and then spun with military sharpness, quickly moving out again. A squirrel. It’s only the rustling of a gray squirrel.

“Bitch probably won’t show. Wait until I get a hold of her, she’s going to wish she’d never gotten involved,” he threatened in an undertone.

A breeze soughed through the trees, young leaves whispered to each other. Somewhere a truck roared to life. The rumbling of its engine, muted by the thick vegetation, sounded far away. A shiver ran down his spine.

Alone.

He’d never felt quite so isolated. “Almost there. Just around that curve then I’ll see if she shows. I want this done. Fucking bitch better show.”  Unconsciously he hunched his shoulders. Embarrassed by his own weakness, he began to turn to look behind him.

Out of the shroud of night, a solid piece of maple limb slammed into the side of his head.

***

Every Tuesday at six am, personal headlamp firmly strapped in place, Professor Lucy Holliswood jogged through Carkeek Park on one of the lesser-used paths. On this day, her pale cone of light flashed over something…something at the side of the path.

She had jogged this same route every morning for ten years on her way to The Happy Bean, her favorite coffee shop, just up the street from Art’s Supermarket. In all that time she had never seen so much as a discarded paper cup. She slowed to a near stop, peering at the dark object. What the…? A black leather loafer, toe perfectly aligned with the edge of the packed dirt of the path. Although the thickness of the salmonberry and Oso berry bushes obstructed her line of sight, she thought she saw…a pair of light-colored pants?

She crept forward. The second shoe, a long stride behind the first one, looked as if the owner had vanished mid-stride. A half-step farther along on the ground she found a pair of beige slacks neatly laid out. The dirt around them had been carefully brushed free of twigs and leaves. Crease still perfect, but ruined by the dirt on one knee as if the wearer had fallen.

Where in the Sam Hill is the man who owns these clothes?  They certainly aren’t what the homeless men wear. And why would anyone lay them out like this, so neatly? 

She pushed forward, arm held up to deflect the slapping branches. Her mother’s voice whispered in her mind, “Someday, Lucy, that curiosity of yers is gonna gitcha in trouble.”

Above the slacks, a white shirt laid flat, arms crossed neatly over the buttoned up front. An expensive-looking, pale gray tie lay on the ground above the shirt. The tip of the tie, lying an inch above the collar of the shirt, drew her eyes. Her eyes followed the straight line of the stretched out tie.

She barely captured the scream with her knuckles as she scrambled backwards.

***

SKETCH OF A MURDER: BOOK 1 SPECIAL CRIMES TEAM is available: http://amzn.to/19omks3

The woods image:  Image courtesy of dan at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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