susanne matthews

Tuesday Tales: From a Picture New Story!

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Good morning.Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the blog hop where you get a peek at Amazon bestselling authors’ work in progress. Each week, those participating, post a scene based on a word of a picture. For the past few months, I have been working on a paranormal suspense called Hello Again, but today, I’m going to introduce you to another wip, a romantic comedy entitled Wedding Bell Blues.

Here’s the image I chose:

After weeks of snow and freezing rain, followed by above freezing temperatures and flooding, I’m longing for summer. In 2013, I wrote a historical novel called The Captain’s Promise, which ended with the ship’s arrival in Martinique, and it piqued my interest in the French island. For Wedding Bell Blues, I created my own Caribbean island named Paradise, and made it part of Martinique.

Here’s this week’s tease. 

“When did you say the room had been canceled?”

“Four weeks ago.”

“I see. Can you check to see if Mr. and Mrs. Markos Theopolis have arrived?”

He nodded to the receptionist who went to the computer. “Are they friends?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she lied. “We work together.”

“Then you could sleep on their sofa,” the manager said brightly.

Before she could answer, Rosette looked up.

“I am sorry, madame,” she said and shook her head. “Monsieur and Madame Theopolis do not arrive until tomorrow.”

“Then we need only find you a place for tonight. Très bien.”

MJ fisted her hands at her side, her nails cutting into her palms, and tried to smile, certain all she managed was an evil grimace.

The dirty, rotten, low-down, two-timing, scheming son of a bitch.

The messed up reservation had nothing to do with the resort, and everything to do with that cheating, scum-sucking bastard.

“Thank you, but Mark and Melena are on their honeymoon and it wouldn’t be right … I appreciate everything you’re doing on my behalf.” MJ said, suddenly calm in her fury. Even her breathing seemed to have relaxed. She’d vent her anger when she was alone, and God help the pillow she’d pummel, wishing it were Mark’s face.

She pictured meeting Melena and Mark on the beach, maybe watching them sitting in the gazebo she’d noticed, waiting to be called to one activity or another, and, when no one was looking, she’d murder them, and tossing their bodies into the water for the sharks to eat. Then she’d gladly move into their room and enjoy what was left of her holiday. Someone might even give her a medal for ridding the world of the dirty rat.

Where are Carla’s mob connections when I need them?

Please drop by and visit all of this week’s  Tuesday Tales.

 

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