Tuesday Tales: From a Picture

badge-for-tt-very-small-1Hello and welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. I wasn’t sure I’d have a post this week, but as things have turned out, here it is. As is our custom, once a month we work from a picture and limit our post to 300 words.

Today, I continue with Wedding Bell Blues. Here’s the picture I chose. I’m sure I used something similar back in the fall, but…

bed

 

MJ rolled over and opened her eyes. The bed beside her was empty, but the indentation in the pillow proved Paul had spent some of the night there. Reaching for her glasses on the bedside table, she noted the time on the clock.

Yikes! It was almost noon. Getting up quickly, she hurried into the bathroom to shower and take care of her morning needs, the first of which were a couple of analgesics for the slight pounding in her head although she wasn’t nauseated as she’d been yesterday.

It had taken her ten minutes last night to convince him to share the bed. After all, they’d done so the previous night, and everything had been fine. He’d kissed her on the forehead and offered her the use of the bathroom first. Feeling like a pampered child rather than a new bride, she’d gone into the bathroom, determined to make him see her as a woman, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, she’d fallen asleep. So much for any alcohol induced femme fatale urges. So where was her gentleman bridegroom now?

A knock on the bathroom door startled her.

“MJ, it’s me. I heard you get up and I didn’t want to scare you. Brunch will be here in half an hour. I’ll be out of the deck when you’re done. Do you want tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please,” she answered, hoping she sounded as relaxed as he did.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in yellow capris and a black and yellow gingham sleeveless blouse, she stepped out onto the deck. Paul sat in one of the loungers.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in,” she said, nervous about her role now. She was his wife, the old ball and chain. Did he feel trapped yet?

I hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s post. Don’t forget to check out all the other on  Tuesday Tales.

 

Midweek Tease:In Plain Sight

mwtease15Good morning and welcome to this week’s Midweek Tease. A lot has happened this month, including the official takeover of Crimson Romance by Simon & Schuster. Interestingly enough, that change came with all new ASIN numbers for my Crimson books sold at Amazon.UK

This month, all of my standalone titles are on sale for 1.99 USD. I thought this morning I would share a bit from In Plain Sight again.

Here’s the blurb:

In life, you pay a price for everything you do. Widowed, her dream of starring on Broadway in ashes at her feet, Misty Starr yearns for a happy, healthy, normal life for herself and her four-year-old daughter, Debbie. Settled in Pine Falls, New York, a sleepy little town filled with friendly people, she believes she’s found it and feels safe enough to sing in an amateur theater revival of Jesus Christ Superstar. She’ll do anything to keep this life even if it is built on lies, because revealing her secret is impossible. When Nick Anthony joins the cast as music director, Misty is attracted to the man who stirs up feelings she thought long dead, but can love grow on a bed of deceit?

A former concert pianist and secret CIA courier, Nick lives in darkness ever since the accident that killed his wife. The doctors say there’s nothing wrong with his vision, so why can’t he see? Hiding from his former life, he reluctantly agrees to help with the musical and is drawn to the young singer with the voice of an angel. When a mysterious fire destroys her home, Nick vows to keep her and her daughter safe. After one suspicious event leads to another, Nick is determined to protect them from an unknown assassin, but in order to do that, he needs to know her secrets. With his money and connections, he’ll do whatever it takes to save the woman he loves, but does she love him enough to reveal the truth?

This week’s tease:

Nick pressed his lips against Misty’s hair. She felt so good in his arms, as if she belonged there. He found himself wishing she did. What would life have been like if he’d met her before he’d met Rebecca? Would the child in the clinic now have been his? Would they be supporting one another or blaming one another for what had happened? No, Misty would never blame someone to avoid taking responsibility for her actions; she wasn’t Rebecca. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body.

He inhaled Misty’s scent, and a primeval need to protect her flooded him. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized he’d do anything he could for her and the child she loved so intensely. He didn’t understand how or why, but he knew he cared for this woman more deeply than he’d ever cared for anyone. He’d thought he’d loved Rebecca, but the feelings he’d had for her paled in comparison to the way he felt now. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t rational, but it was powerful and compelling. He might be blind, but he had a fortune and a small army of trained people to call on to keep her safe.

He didn’t know why she needed to assume the blame for the fire, but he knew that the possibility she might not be responsible terrified her. What was she hiding? How could he help her if he didn’t understand the problem?

What he wouldn’t give to have his sight again. The doctors he’d consulted, among the best in the world, all agreed there was no physical reason why he couldn’t see, but they were wrong; they had to be. How could he be blind if there was nothing wrong with his eyes? Conversion disorder, they called it; what the hell was that? A mental and emotional rather than a physical reason for an ailment? It was all bullshit. Did they really believe it was all in his head? He might have been distraught and depressed after the accident, might have blamed himself, but he was fine now, so why couldn’t he see? Did they really think he wanted to be blind? Did they think he really wanted to keep punishing himself this way? Dammit! He wanted to see! And now, because of Misty, he had more reason than ever to want his vision restored.

He opened his eyes each morning, hoping somehow the blackness of the purgatory in which he found himself would be gone. The accident hadn’t been his fault. He knew that, didn’t he?

When Rebecca had called him in London to tell him about the baby and her plans to “take care of it,” he’d pleaded with her to wait until his tour was over, a week at best, so they could talk about it. When he’d returned from his tour, he’d gone directly to her opening and, seeing her with champagne in her glass, had known his flesh and blood was gone. Rebecca had laughed at him, calling him all kinds of a fool if he’d really expected her to ruin her body and her career for some brat.

She’d had a few drinks, and he should have insisted on driving. Why had she even told him about the child in the first place if she’d intended to get rid of it? Because that was the way Rebecca operated. She found your sore spot and cut away at it with a rusty, serrated blade, hoping to inflict the maximum amount of pain. He’d made no secret of the fact that he’d wanted a child.

He’d been so angry, ready to kill her for what she’d done so callously. He’d almost refused to get into the car with her, but unlike her, the last thing he’d wanted was to make a scene in public. She’d loved any and all publicity, and while his name frequently appeared in the press, he’d liked to keep his private life private.

He’d asked for a divorce the minute she’d pulled out onto the street. She’d laughed at him in that heartless way she had. He’d never forget her words or the venom in her voice.

“I’ll divorce you when I’m good and ready, not a minute sooner. Being married to the famous Nico Antoni is still good for my career. When you’re no longer an asset, I’ll throw you to the wolves, but I promise, when I do, there’ll be precious little left of your fortune or your career. When I’m done with my toys, they’re only fit for the garbage. Ask Laura.”

“You bloody bitch!” he’d cried, “I’ll see you in hell before you’ll get anything. I’ll call my lawyer in the morning.”

She’d thrown her head back and laughed, taking her eyes off the road. She hadn’t seen the truck crossing the median, heading straight toward them. He’d yelled, but it had been too late. Rebecca was dead. And he was blind.

He blinked his sightless eyes, the familiar sadness that came with memories of Rebecca and his unborn child were held at bay by the warmth and softness of the woman in his arms. Rebecca and the unknown child were gone—dead and buried. Misty was alive and breathing in his arms. Micah had indicated that she might still be mourning Trent, but she had Debbie to console her, and he’d make sure that when she was ready to let another man into her life, it would be him. He’d do whatever he could for them now to earn her friendship and gratitude. As soon as he could, he’d take the relationship to the next level. For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Want more?

Amazon.com

Amazon.UK

Now, please visit the rest of this week’s teasers.

#MidWeekTease February 15, 2017


 

Tuesday Tales: From the Word LOVE

badge-for-tt-very-small-1Hello. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales based on a word worthy of tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day. Isn’t it amazing how we use the word love in so many different ways and for so many different things?

This morning,  I’m continuing with the wedding scene from Wedding Bell Blues. Hope you enjoy it.

MJ leaned into Paul as they moved as one across the dance floor. She loved the way he held her as if she were made of crystal and yet so firmly she knew he wouldn’t let her go. But this was the last dance. Like Cinderella, for her the party was over, and it was time to get back to reality. Prince Charming might still be around, and she didn’t have a smashed pumpkin coach to worry about, but there would be a Lucifer of sorts to deal with tomorrow … She wouldn’t think of that alley cat now. Snuggling into Paul’s shoulder, she drifted around the room on the romantic melody.

God, she couldn’t wait to take off her shoes and collapse onto the bed. This might not have been the wedding reception she’d planned for herself, but the night had been magical and so much better than anything she could’ve wanted–except for the aching feet. Why was it women insisted on wearing shoes to dance in that were actually meant to look good and not feel good? These spiky, spindly heels hadn’t been her choice, but Carla was right. They looked damn good. If only they still felt like they had six hours ago.

wedding-cakeThere had been unexpected wedding gifts—vouchers for just about anything a new couple would need—provided by Louis’s corporate sponsors and the network. As far as the meal had gone, it was perfect as if Mama had planned it herself since it included all of MJ’s favorites. When they’d arrived, servers had been walking around offering hors d’oeuvres, which included spanakopita, dolmades, bruschetta, and crab meat Charissa. In the center of the dance floor, a table had been set up with a selection of traditional and exotic fruits and variety of cheeses, surrounding a beautiful pale blue iced wedding cake decorated with seashells to commemorate the location.

During that time, she and Paul had shaken hands with the guests and listened to Mama as she’d explained everything that had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours. MJ might well bemoan what she and Paul had done, but she would never regret seeing the happiness and excitement on her mother’s face.

Once the appetizers were done, they’d all sat down to the main meal: yogurt with honey and almonds, Greek salad, fresh rolls, and a choice of stuffed leg of lamb and chicken or vegetarian souvlaki. Along with the main course came rice, Greek potatoes and roasted vegetables. Dessert was a selection of Greek pastries including loukoumades, the Greek donuts she loved, baklava, and traditional wedding cake which they’d cut before the camera crew had departed.

There’d been a different wine served with each course and champagne for toasting. She’d tried to keep track of the number of glasses of fine wine she consumed, but that was hard to do since the glass never emptied. She’d take a sip or two and one of the servers would refill it right away.

Of course, each toast had been accompanied by toe-curling kisses, shorter than the one they’d exchanged after the ceremony but moving and exciting. She’d given up believing this was all a sham. There was no way Paul could kiss her like that, hold her the way he did now, without feeling something more than friendship for her.

The music stopped. Paul released her and stepped back. She missed the feel of his body against hers.

“The shows over, Mrs. Davis. Time to bid the last of our guests goodnight.”

His voice was smooth with a hint of sadness in it, his eyes mere slits testifying to the fact he’d lost track of the amount of champagne he’d had as well. Mama and Louis had left about an hour ago, since they would be heading back to Martinique at first light, and from there to New York.

“I don’t expect we’ll be seeing you two before noon,” Lindsay said, coming to stand next to them, Noel just a step behind her. “I know I intend to sleep in at least until ten.” She yawned. “It was an absolutely wonderful wedding and as my gift, I’ll make an album for you from all of the photographs I’ve taken.”

MJ reached over to hug her friend. “I know I’ll love it. Thank you.”

Lindsay smiled. “I know you two have a few wrinkles to iron out, but my gut tells me things will work out just the way they should. You’ve got chemistry, and well, when you look at one another, it’s magical.” She shook her head. “What time are we meeting with Antoine Leroux, the treasure hunter?”

“Two-thirty or three,” Paul answered, looking a little uncomfortable with Lindsay’s comments.

“Since there’s a boat expected in at noon, the staff needs to get them registered and sorted before the man gives the general information. We’ll sit down with him after that.”

MJ swallowed, suddenly feeling as sober as a judge. She might want to forget about Mark and Melena, but they would be arriving on that boat. God alone knew how long it would be before he saw her and all hell would break loose.

She shivered.

“Cold?” Paul asked, putting his arm around her.

“No, just really tired. I want to get to bed.”

Noel laughed. “Of course you do. It’s your wedding night. Come on, Lindsay, let’s leave the lovebirds to their thing.”

Lindsay chuckled. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

MJ felt her cheeks heat. Would Paul want a wedding night now that they were legally married?

“Shall we?” Paul asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“Shall we what?”

“Go,” he laughed. “The room’s empty. The staff need to clean up.”

Feeling her cheeks heat even more, MJ smiled. “Of course.”

Paul frowned and turned to her. “MJ, you aren’t afraid to be alone with me, are you? I know things tonight haven’t been what either of us expected, but I did promise to keep my distance. I will behave myself, so if you’re worried about me trying to claim conjugal rights, relax. We’re just two friends on an adventure. Now, let me scoop you up and get you to bed.”

MJ nodded, knowing she should be happy he was going to keep his word, but heart-sore and disappointed nonetheless.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s post. Don’t forget to check out all the other on  Tuesday Tales.

Have a wonderful, romantic, and loving Valentine’s Day.

Look Who Dropped By: Angelica Dawson

It’s my pleasure to welcome fellow author Angelica Dawson this morning. Angelica’s latest instalment in her Blue Moon House series,  Book 7: Harlot will appeal to all who enjoy titillating eroticism.  

love-changes-everythingWhat happens when the sacrifice you make for another turns into a life you can’t abandon? Gwendolyn didn’t plan to become a whore. She didn’t expect to fall in love with another woman. She certainly wouldn’t guess that woman was a vampire. By the time she learns, it is too late, her heart belongs to Sophia and she will do anything to stay with the woman, the vampire, she loves.

Find out how each of the characters in the original novella, “Blue Moon House,” became a member. Read the trials and tribulations they had to endure, the kinky sexual acts, and wickedly wonderful ways required for entry. Discover what the big secret is all about.

 

Amazon Smart URL: http://hyperurl.co/BMH7

Nook: http://bit.ly/2igS4eL

iBooks: http://hyperurl.co/iHar

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2imrcI9

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2hzHgcq

Tags: #BlueMoonHouse #BDSM #Vampire #Paranormal #Erotic #Romance

Bio: Angelica Dawson, best selling Naughty Nights Press author, has been writing for several years and having sex a lot longer than that. Angelica is a wife, mother and environmental consultant. Her love of plants and the outdoors is not diminished by the bloodsucking hoards — mosquitoes and blackflies, not vampires.

Webpage/blog: http://angelicadawson.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/authorangelicadawson.blogspot.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/angelicadawson

Mailing list: http://www.angelicadawson.com/2016/02/mailing-list.html

Best of luck with your new book!

 

Midweek Tease: Hello Again

mwtease15Good morning and welcome to this week’s Midweek tease. Since we are so close to Valentine’s day, I thought I would tease from Hello Again, my romantic suspense novel with more than a little paranormal in it. Love transcends time and space, right?

Book Blurb:

For Charley Winters love means loss and pain. She’s spent the last five years struggling with her grief. Existing, not living. Drawn to Saskatchewan, she travels west take the job she’s always wanted. But life gets complicated when she’s rescued from a vicious tornado by her dead husband’s double, a man who makes her feel things she hasn’t in years. Add to that a native myth, a shaman, a green-eyed wolf, and her husband’s ghost … Can she lift a millennia old curse and find joy and love again?

Here’s this week’s tease:

She’d told Phil she’d sprinkled Mike’s ashes on the wind the day after the funeral. She’d driven near the place where Mike had rescued the wolf, but the truth was she hadn’t even been able to get out of the car. She couldn’t let the ashes go. If she did, she’d be truly alone, and she’d never survive that final separation. No, she’d cling to Mike and her memories until her number was up, and while she prayed it would be soon, she was convinced her prayers fell on deaf ears.

“I love you, Mike,” she said caressing the urn as she done so many times recently. “I understand why your mother did what she did. Some losses are too painful to accept. I’m as trapped here as you are.”

The letter Mike had left for her, the one he’d written before he’d been deployed, sat on the coffee table, now covered with watermarks from the glasses littering its wooden surface. She reached over and picked up the sheet of paper. His instructions were specific, but she’d never be able to follow through with his requests. It wasn’t fair of him to expect her to.

“Damn you, Mike for dying, for leaving me this way. You didn’t have the right,” she said aloud, her voice echoing in the empty room. Drawn to the page, she read the words once more although she didn’t need to. Each one was engraved on a piece of her shattered heart.

Charley,

If you’re reading this, it’s because I let you down. I didn’t come back to you the way I promised, and I’ll always regret not being able to look into those baby blues of yours, and say goodbye. I never thought it would come to this, that we’d have so little time together. I wanted to take care of you, make you happy, and spend the rest of my days telling you how thankful I am that you are part of my life. We knew this might happen, and it was a choice we made when I enlisted and you married me, but saying goodbye like this is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be.

You’re the light of my life. I imagine our children running around the house, around that garage we were going to open—a boy who’d resemble me, a little girl who’d look just like her mama. We’d grow old together doing the things we loved, checking off each item on that bucket list we made before we were married.

I still want you to do those things, babe, even if I can’t be there to do them with you. There isn’t a lot of insurance money—I always meant to get more, but there was always something else that needed to be done, and since I expected to be there, earning it side by side, I figured fifty grand was enough.

There were so many things I wanted to show you, places I wanted to take you, but you’ll have to find someone else to do those things with now. That’s right. Once I’m gone, you need to move on.

I can hear you saying no, see you shaking your head, but you need to listen to me. I know you’re still mourning your father, but you have to let me go, let both of us go, and the best way to do it is to get rid of the things chaining you to the past—like that old car you baby all the time. You need something safe and reliable. You may be the best damn mechanic in the world, but eventually, a car needs to be scrapped. As far as I go, I’ve left instructions with Phil to cremate my body as quickly as he can after my death. I know you’ll want to see me, but babe, I want you to remember me the way I was when I was with you. Scatter my ashes on the wind. Don’t keep me cooped up in a fancy vase or box like my mother kept my dad. Once that’s done, I need you to open your heart and find a good man, a decent man who’ll love you and make you happy. I’d find one for you, if I could, but there are some things you’ll have to do for yourself.

I don’t know what there is after death, and religion wasn’t part of my life growing up, but when I think of moving on like this, I’m reminded of the stories my grandfather told. He was fascinated by his First Nations’ ancestor, even if he couldn’t claim status. The Sioux believed that the living and the dead lived together, even if only the shamans could see those who’d died. If that’s true, I’ll never leave you. I’ll watch out for you in any way I can. You won’t see me, hear me, or feel me, but I’ll be there waiting for the day when I can say hello again.

Right now, I can picture you standing there, tears running down your cheeks, and that’s the last thing I want. I know how stubborn you can be, but Charley, this is important for both of us, so please, mourn a little like I know you need to, but then move on.

Live, love, laugh, darling. Enjoy life the way you were meant to. I’ll always love you, now and forever,

Mike.

She swiped at the tears that crept down her cheeks.

“You’re wrong, Mike. I’ll never be happy again. The only way there’ll ever be a man in my life, is if you find a way to come back to me, because I’m not going looking for one. So ‘Rescues Wolf Pup and Gets into Trouble,’ if I can’t have you here and now, I’ll wait until we can be together, but don’t make me wait too long.”

Now, please visit the rest of this week’s teasers.


 

Tuesday Tales: From the Word METAL

badge-for-tt-very-small-1Hello again and welcome back to this week’s edition of Tuesday Tales, free reads written by bestselling authors. Thanks go to Jean Joachim for keeping us on our toes each week. Each post is a snippet from a work in progress and is  based on a specific word prompt. Our word this week is METAL, and believe me, considering where I am in this story, it was a stretch!

I’m working with Wedding Bell Blues, my contemporary romance, with a best friends to lovers-second chance at love trope. For those following the story, MJ and Paul have agreed on a marriage of convenience in order to right a few wrongs from their pasts. What they have yet to realize is that they were meant to be together. As I heard in a television program lately, “you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him look at his reflection.” Right now, that’s exactly where my characters are. Enjoy.

Paul pulled MJ’s arm through his and led her back to the Cinderella coach, releasing her to help her into the carriage and climb in beside her. The bench seat was small, the interior of the metal carriage not designed for a man of his size. He put his arm across the back of the seat to give her a little more room.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, unable to see much of her face with only the carriage’s twinkle lights to see by. “I think that went well, and your mother was in seventh heaven.”

“Did you know about the padre?” she asked softly, but the tremor in her voice told him the truth was critical to her. The last thing she needed right now was to be backed into a corner. She was as skittish as a newborn colt.

“You mean before we arrived? No. Louis Rich told me about it just before he handed me my uniform. I was as stunned as you must’ve been. He didn’t tell me about your mother until the curtain opened, and there she was.”

“That must’ve been a surprise.” She giggled nervously. “Is it really your uniform? You’ve got a lot of medals on your chest.”

He chuckled bitterly. “There are a lot of guys with more, but sadly they didn’t all get to come home and brag about their service. Rich arranged to have someone from the post go into the house and get it for me. Since until now, I had no next of kin, the camp commander was my emergency contact. Now, it’ll be you. I didn’t expect the interview, either.”

“What did you talk about?” she asked, and he sensed her curiosity was genuine.

“You and me, the way we met, fell in love—the kind of stuff we agreed on. He blindsided me with questions about my last tour, but I managed to deflect them. National security comes in handy at times.”

She exhaled heavily. “I’m sure it does. What are we going to do Paul? This changes everything.”

“Does it? The way I see it, everything has improved. We’ll save money on a Thanksgiving wedding–maybe I can even skip out on the Greek Baptism–although I’m sure your mother will want to throw a party. You can move into the house now, the way you’d hoped and be within walking distance of school. You’ll save on gas and rent–and don’t even think of offering to pay me rent. This may be a marriage in name only, but I have my pride. You can cover the cost of groceries and incidentals, if you insist, but the big expenses are mine.”

“Pulling rank, lieutenant?” There was bitterness in her words.

“I didn’t mean it like that, MJ,” he said, wishing he could take the words back. He’d probably sounded as controlling as the Achilles Heel. “You’re my wife now. I want to take care of you and make you happy for as long as it lasts.”

“You do realize that after this dog and pony show, it could be longer than either of us thought. Mama will be devastated. I haven’t seen her this happy in years,” she stated, her voice choked with emotions. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to tell her the truth.”

The last thing he wanted was for her to cry. He reached for her hand and took it in his, gently squeezing it in reassurance.

“I’ve often heard the expression,’ if life gives you lemons, make lemonade,’ but I’ve never really understood it until now. This may not be what either of us had in mind, but I’m actually glad it’s turned out this way. The last few years of my life have been lonely, bitter ones, filled with sorrow and regret, and talking about my last posting reminded me of why I bought the house in the first place. I want to wake up in the morning and know I deserved to survive.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you deserved to survive. And as for making lemonade, I think I’m the one coming out on top here. I arrived a jilted bride with no place to stay, and nowhere to go. Like a white knight, you’ve rescued me, and the cost you’ve paid to do so is staggering.”

“I have to disagree with you. You make me laugh again and think that maybe I can be a better man because of you. I’m looking forward to having someone other than King to talk to. I can’t wait to sit and listen to you tell me about your day, knowing it won’t involve the number of casualties suffered by both sides. The thought of not sitting down to dinner with sand in my food and another hundred guys, each one lost in thought remembering loved ones far away thrills me, especially when I’ll get to sit across from you and watch your face as you sample my cooking and I enjoy yours. We can make this work, if we really want to, Marilyn, and damn it, I know it isn’t logical, and I don’t deserve someone as wonderful as you are in my life again, but I want it to work. This place is filled with magic. Maybe we can take a little of it back home with us.”

The carriage pulled up in front of the building and in the light, Paul could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. His heart fell. Was the thought of being his wife that disturbing to her?

Surprising him, she reached over and kissed his cheek. When she leaned back, she was smiling. “Okay, Mr. Davis. Magic it is. Let’s get this party going.”

I hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s post. Don’t forget to check out all the other on  Tuesday Tales

Look Who Dropped By Today: Elizabeth Meyette

When Jesse Graham almost runs over a “body” in the road one night, she is plunged into a labyrinth of secrets, lies and murder. All Jesse wants is a simple life teaching at St. Bart’s… and a chance at love with Joe Riley. She realizes that plan has been thwarted when puzzling occurrences at St. Bartholomew Academy for Girls get increasingly dangerous. The danger doesn’t just spring from the ghost who haunts the grounds of St. Bart’s, but from a sinister presence that is not ghostly at all. As she digs into the mystery, threats on her life and the life of her student escalate.

Which danger threatens her life the most? The ghost haunting her student or the secrets buried in the school?

Just $0.99 for a LIMITED TIME
Buried Secrets
by Elizabeth Meyette
Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble
Genre: Mystery | Suspense | Thriller
Release Date: October 3, 2016
Length: 324 Pages
Guest Posts | Author Interviews | Spotlights

 

Excerpt

Jesse Graham squinted through the windshield wipers at the rain-swept road ahead of her. In her twenty-eight years, she had never liked being out in a thunderstorm, and this one was a doozy.

“NASA plans to put a man on the moon next year, but nobody can invent windshield wipers that work in a downpour,” she grumbled.

She hadn’t meant to work until after sunset, but she’d obsessed with putting up creative bulletin boards and adding final touches to the course guides to be ready for the first day of school tomorrow. Though she had taught in Rochester for five years, no doubt her obsession stemmed from the fact that she was the newest faculty member at St. Bartholomew Academy for Girls.

Adjusting to the late-summer darkness was hard enough, but add this thunderstorm and visibility was nil. At least upstate New York didn’t suffer through tornadoes or hurricanes. She gripped the wheel, concentrating on avoiding the deep ditch carved out along the shoulder.

A flash of lightning revealed a shape sprawled in the middle of the road ahead. She leaned forward, as if that would help her see if it was a deer someone hit and left to die. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the shape again, revealing blonde hair spread out on the wet pavement. In a moment of clarity—at least she could always count on that oddity in the midst of panic—she knew it was not a deer. Downshifting, she slammed on the brakes, her 1965 Volkswagen Beetle skidding sideways. She broke out in prickles of sweat as her car thudded against the form and halted.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” she cried out.

She was pinned to her seat. Her legs shook, then her whole body. She fumbled for the door handle, unable to find it at first. Finally, she grasped it, threw open the door, and scrambled out onto the road. The sky strobed as a lightning bolt slammed into a nearby tree. Her nose stung with the acrid smell of sulfur. Her knees buckled, but she recovered, stumbling toward the immobile form. Slowing her pace, she neared the cloth-draped figure, afraid it might leap up and attack her. Afraid it might not move at all.

Have I just killed someone?

Trembling, she dropped to her knees beside the form. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of long, blonde hair streaming out from beneath the gray wool blanket that covered the shape. Pulling the blanket back, she gasped. A blonde wig was perched atop a dummy fashioned from burlap stuffed with hay. What the…? Slowly, she realized what she was looking at. She breathed with relief. But her relief was short-lived.

Son of a bitch. This prank could have sent someone flipping end over end. Storms weren’t known to improve traction.

“Who the hell would pull a rotten trick like this?”

She looked around—was the perpetrator standing just off in the trees beside the road? Rain spattered against her hair. As she brushed the clinging ringlets from her eyes, she pulled up the hood of her nylon poncho. Heart pounding, she leaned back on her heels, inhaling deeply to still her trembling. Hot breath escaped through her flared nostrils. Grabbing the dummy, she wrapped the blanket around it and lugged it to the car.

ABOUT ELIZABETH MEYETTE

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Author, blogger and believer in dreams-come-true, Elizabeth Meyette fell in love with books as a child when her sister read her Goldilocks and the Three Bears. “She had me at ‘Once upon a time…’” Elizabeth confesses. Writing her first book on a dare, she kept Love’s Destiny on her closet shelf for more years than she would like to admit while she taught English and Journalism. Finally she retired early in order to pursue her passion: writing. A friend says she’s not retired, she’s “refired.”

Readers wanted more of the story of Jonathan Brentwood and Emily Wentworth, so Elizabeth got to work on Love’s Spirit. While she loved writing the two historical romances, her muse, Boris, started whispering in her ear characters and plot for The Cavanaugh House. That book was conceived on a trip to upstate New York to visit her family. The Cavanaugh House was a number one paranormal bestseller on Amazon for weeks until Stephen King bumped it to number two. Readers wanted more of Jesse Graham, so Boris nudged Elizabeth to pen a sequel to The Cavanaugh House, Buried Secrets.

Elizabeth has also written several children’s books that she hopes to publish in the near future. Her poetry has appeared in various anthologies.

A native of upstate New York, Elizabeth now lives in Michigan with her husband Richard. They have an agreement that she cannot cook on writing days after he endured burnt broccoli and dry chicken. Fortunately, Rich is an excellent cook.

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