Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Addicted to Writing ~ Tell Tale Tuesday ~ Meghan's Legacy by K. J. Dahlen



Meghan's Legacy by K. J. Dahlen
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1


BLURB:

When she inherits her Grandfather’s estate, Meghan must face the past she can’t remember. Strange things start happening the moment she enters her new home. Just days after she arrives at the house she inherited, an accident meant for her injures a good friend. Is it a ghost or someone more sinister that doesn't want her to remember?

EXCERPT:

Meghan thought a house like this one would be out of place in the northern states but somehow this one wasn’t. This house blended into the landscape without seeming overly grand. The woods behind the house gave it a natural back drop.

The papers on the seat next to her proving her ownership labeled the property as Thorp Manor. The house, its contents, and what most would consider a small fortune, were now hers. She still couldn’t get used to the idea she owned all of this. She had checked with the power company and the lights and water had been turned on the day before her arrival.

A few days ago on her birthday she’d had a visit from Geoffrey Anderson, attorney at law. He told her he represented the estate of the late Leon Thorp. Leon Thorp passed away years ago and left everything in his estate to his granddaughter Meghan when she reached the age of twenty five. Meghan had lost both her parents in an explosion when she was three and had lived in this house for the two years after. She couldn’t remember the accident or her grandfather, but now, twenty years later she had inherited Leon’s estate.

Unseen eyes watched her from behind the ragged curtains in an upstairs room as she took the key from her purse and unlocked the front door. When Meghan stepped over the threshold and into the foyer of the house, she shivered. She wasn’t sure why but she had a creepy feeling about being in the house. The air in the house was musty, and she could tell no one had lived there for a long time. The sun coming in the doorway revealed small particles of dust flying everywhere. Leaving the front door open, Meghan walked through the first floor room. Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors as she looked for her first time at her inheritance. Most of the furniture was draped in dust covers and when she sneezed, the sound faintly echoed through out the house. She thought she could hear footsteps above her head. But when she listened, and there were no other sounds, she dismissed it as part of her imagination.

Meghan stopped in front of a painting atop the mantle in the main parlor. It was a portrait of the man whom she assumed was Leon Thorp. He was a handsome man; tall and broad-shouldered and his bearing was almost one of royalty. He looked as if he belonged in this big house. Her imagination could see him living the life of a land baron, overseeing the work hands as they labored in the fields and then after a hard day, coming home to his wife and children. She shook her head. Sometimes, she thought her imagination was her worst enemy.

I loved Meghan’s spunkiness and willful refusal to let the bad guy win yet again. If you like spooky stories, true evil bad guys, and spunky heroines, you will like Meghan’s Legacy!

Stevi B. for Manic Readers

Monday, February 24, 2014

Addicted to Writing Presents ~ Mystery Monday ~ Joker's Wild by C. L. Kraemer



Title: Jokers Wild
Author: C. L. Kraemer
Genre: Suspense
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1



Blurb

Four brothers raised in the Northwest.
Two choose to stay and pursue life in Oregon. Two are seduced by the promise of Hollywood.
Life throws the Palmer brothers an ugly curve when two are killed in preventable accidents. Even more upsetting is the lack of justice in the trials of the perpetrators.
The remaining brothers will find justice using a shared passion of all the participants--motorcycle poker runs.

EXCERPT
2004

The squeak of his teeth against each other reverberated in Joey's ears.
"Joey? Joey!"
The plaintive cry brought his attention back to the moment. Kandace, Kandi, O'Connell ripped her hand from his, rubbing the appendage and pushing her bottom lip into a formidable pout.
"What the hell is wrong with you? You nearly crushed my fingers!"
He resumed glaring across the courtroom at the dapper figure vigorously shaking the lawyer's hand.
"Joey! What is your problem?" Kandi sidled up to the man, running her hand along his muscled arm.
He slowly pivoted her direction, staring in disbelief.
"Do you think he got what he deserved?"
The couple glanced at the defense table. Corey "Slide" Rigby grinned at the mob of young females clustered near the waist high, wooden retainer separating the spectator section from the main body of the courtroom. Bentley Wellington IV snapped his briefcase closed and looked up at the Hon. Scott Fournier, currently vacating the bench; few noticed the slight nod passing between the two.
Joey surveyed the growing mayhem in the courtroom.
"I need to get some fresh air." He powered through the writhing mass of humanity trying to grab the attention of the action adventure star and marched to the open colonnade.
Kandi scrambled to keep up with his strides, dodging the gauntlet of pushing cameramen and reporters shoving microphones in her face and shouting questions at her.
Joey steered them to the side of the building away from the media circus.
"Damned vultures." He reached around to his hip pocket and withdrew the round tin whose impression was permanently stamped on all the back pockets of his jeans. Twisting the lid, he snagged a pinch of brown flakes between his thumb and forefinger. Using his middle finger, he tucked the flakes inside his bottom lip.
"I really wish you'd give that up. It's disgusting." Kandi wrinkled her nose.
"I suppose your herb habit is any better?"
 Kandi sniffed. "It's medicinal."
"Right, and I'm a virginal school girl."
The crowd in front of the building began buzzing until the sound engulfed the immediate area. Cameramen and reporters started spreading across the lawn and down the side corridors of the building, edging toward the couple.
"Must be the star making his appearance," Joey stepped off the concrete walkway onto the manicured lawn and peered at the building's facade. The wide sidewalk in front of the judicial edifice was a sea of reporters clutching microphones aimed in the direction of a podium.
When the action hero stepped up to the provided mike, multiple voices vied for the attention of the man.
The actor flashed his best on-screen smile to the mob and raised a hand.
"I'll get to all your questions--later. Right now I need to give credit where credit is due…"
Joey curled up one corner of his mouth and turned from the scene. A familiar form caught his attention, and he slowed his gait as he watched Bentley Wellington IV casually slip from the gathered insanity.
Odd. I've never seen him relinquish the limelight. He shadowed the lawyer, ducking behind the columns when the man glanced over his shoulder. As Bentley neared the main building, a side door swung open and Judge Fournier stepped into the breezeway. Joey darted to a pillar near the pair. He watched as the lawyer reached into an inner pocket of his suit coat and retrieved a bulging sealed envelope. He started to hand the packet to the judge, glancing Joey's direction.
Joey slipped behind the post, holding back a well chosen swear word.
"I believe this is yours. I found it in my briefcase this morning."
The crinkle of paper tickled Joey's ears. Another familiar voice reached him.
"Uh, oh, oh my. I'm so sorry."
Kandi. He couldn't help himself; he peeked around the support. She was rising slowly and handing the envelope to the Judge with one hand, her opened cell phone in the other.
"No problem, miss. What are you doing here?" The tone of the question was tinged with suspicion.
"Isn't this the door to the ladies' room?"
Joey stuck his crooked forefinger between his front teeth and resumed his hiding spot. He could imagine her big green eyes, luminescent in the refracted light of the windows as she ran her pink tongue over her plump melon tinged lips.
Silence permeated the moment.
One of the men cleared his throat.
"No, ma'am. The public entrance is back down the breezeway and to the right. I'm sure one of the reporters will be glad to direct you from there."
He could hear Kandi giggle. "I'm so directionally challenged. Thank you."
The click of her heels on the concrete echoed against the building. Joey held his position.
"Do you think she knows?" The voice sounded like the lawyer's.
"No. She's too dumb. Did you see her…assets?"
Joey ground his right fist into his left palm.
"Yeah. That'd sure look good on the back of my Fatboy."
Both men laughed and the tension filling the air dissipated.
"You doing the Jay Leno ride?"
"Naw. The in-laws are in town and I'm going to have to pretend to be a good husband."
"Better you than me. Maybe we can sneak in a quick ride to Donna's Hideaway on Sunday."
"I might be able to finagle my way free for the afternoon. I'll get hold of you by Sunday morning."
"Not too early. Unlike you, I have no wife…"
"Currently."
"…yeah, whatever. So I plan on hitting the clubs on Saturday night. Don't call before ten."
"It's going to take us a couple hours just to get there."
"Yep. That's why it's called a road trip."
The sound of footsteps ricocheted back to Joey, and he ventured to peek from behind his column.
 He was about to walk toward the front of the building and locate Kandi when a pair of hands grabbed his side.
"Boo!"
He snapped around, arm cocked, hand fisted.
Her eyes were wide and rounded, her face devoid of all color.
"Christ, Kandi. I nearly hit you!"
"S-s-sorry."
She wiggled her cell phone back and forth in front of him.
"I got pictures of the envelope," her sing-song announcement reminded Joey of his six year old nephew.
"Terrific. You have pictures of a white envelope stuffed with…"
"Money." Kandi closed her eyes. "My favorite."
"… strips of paper cut in the shape of dollar bills."
"WHAT?!" Kandi's eyes popped open.
Joey put his hand over her mouth and snugged her to him. "Shhh."
The two legal figures standing near the undulating crowd of reporters soon disappeared into the mass.
Joey peeked from behind his stanchion and swore under his breath. His gaze fell to the furious green eyes trying to burn a hole through his head.
"That's the story they would tell anyone who asked. You don't think they'll admit to an exchange of money? And face it, sweetheart, you're not a very reliable witness."
"OUCH!" He whipped his hand from her mouth. "That hurt!"
Kandi stepped away from him. "Then don't put it where it doesn't belong." She stomped toward the parking lot.
Joey caught up with her and slipped his hand through her arm, turning her to face him. He pulled her wiggling body to him and caught her lips beneath his own. The maneuver worked. He felt her relax.
Breaking off the kiss, he put his lips next to her ear. The floral smell of her shampoo tickled his nose and he pulled in the fragrance.
"Sorry, Babe. We just need to be smarter than they are."
She looked up into eyes brimming with pain and gently kissed his chin. "I know. We'll think of something."
"Right now, I'm in the mood for a road trip. Feel like going to Donna's?"
"I was hoping you'd want to ride. I traded shifts with Ally, so I don't have to be back to work for two glorious days."
The pair headed to the parking lot, avoiding the gaggle of television crews intent on getting the first scoop in the Alex Palmer vs. Corey Rigby wrongful death suit.
Joey swung his leg over the bike and backed it out into the street. Kandi stepped on the peg and flipped her leg over the backrest. Pushing the button to start the bike, Joey gave the throttle a full twist. The engine roared to life, echoing off the surrounding towering high-rises as the back tire spun in place filling the parking lot with billowing, acrid white smoke.
Recognizing the maneuver, Kandi wrapped her arms around Joey's waist and clinched shut her eyes.
The motorcycle screeched out of the lot, leaving a black rubber streak on the pavement. When the smoke cleared, the bike and its occupants were nowhere to be seen.

~ * ~

Corey Rigby stepped back from the microphone and searched the crowd for his lawyer. He stood at the podium alone. Cameras zoomed in to feature his pale, sweating face. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the courthouse.
The gauntlet had been slammed down with smoking force.





Sunday, February 23, 2014

Addicted to Writing Presents Romance Sunday: Love in the RV Park by Jeffrey Ross



Title: Love in an RV Park
Author: Jeffrey Ross
Email: slipdoc@cox.net

Genre: Romance (For Men) Humor
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1





This quirky and fast moving romance revolves around passionate lovers in tangled and mostly unfulfilling relationships. The tale is complete with hot housewives, rock musicians, exotic dancers, motorcycles, steamy nail polish-melting love scenes,  hard drinking college professors, hybrid alien children, a romantic bug exterminator,  girl fights, a New Year’s Eve brawl,  religious zealotry, prophecies (The Temple of Just DOET) —and more. Ultimately, Love in the RV Park is about the male perception [misperception?] of the female psyche—and the novel attempts to answer an age-old question: What do women want? Laugh or cry—you’ll come away enlightened after reading this zany romance.

EXCERPT


Johnny Roz
Retired English Teacher

Now, Johnny’s one claim to fame was that he had graded over 430,000 essays during his twenty-five year teaching career at Copperfield Community College. Johnny was an old bachelor. He lived in a nice two-tone pink and silver travel trailer owned by Luther and Leah Free. Johnny had lived there for nineteen years and had never considered home ownership. His days were spent worrying about faucet leaks, laundry, paying bills, and doctors’ appointments. Johnny’s cousin was Dr. Jeffrey Roz, a somewhat formerly-famous poet, romance novelist, and scholar who taught at nearby Hamilton State University.
Johnny’s story was pretty calm. He couldn’t tell you where the years went. He was young once, went to a few meetings, then he was fifty-three and eligible for the state retirement system. He had owned three or four dogs in his lifetime, a few used cars, and might have been to Saskatoon once. That’s it. Except for the time he nearly killed himself drinking tequila shots at a CCC staff Christmas party in Casita Grande. The next morning, he woke up covered in sleet on somebody’s patio, pants gone, nearly hypothermic.
Johnny was a capable and careful man who kept a clean apartment. He wasn’t hooked up to cable, or dish TV, but he occasionally watched network events on the seven inch screen antenna-driven handheld model he bought at Sticky Mart for forty bucks.
Johnny had never been married. He often wondered about the life he lived, and realized financial security provided little in the way of emotional comfort.
Johnny had always been fascinated by women, but had realized few “connections” with them. He had maintained female friends at work, but not many. Women, to Johnny, seemed to represent some kind of problem—a beautiful yet complicated problem.
A bit of a rhetorician, he often spent his days contemplating, analyzing, and critically reviewing the following question relating to human behavior: What do women want? Ah, Johnny knew Chaucer had an answer, Jerry Springer was curious, Virginia Woolf had a speculative idea or thirty, and Hollywood had churned out their notions in millions of senses-numbing bad movies, but he himself was at a total loss. Since he didn’t know the answer, Johnny often surmised he would remain lonely and solitary. Snap.
Sometimes he woke up at night sweating, nearly panicked, and thought about his past and the emptiness of his meager experiences.
John was having a series of dreams lately—those kinds you have in the moments before you wake up—which were totally depressing him. In the dreams, the formula, the plot line, was nearly always the same. To wit:
Julia, an attractive and unhappily-married housewife from down the street, knocks on his door. He opens the door to see her, smiling, holding a measuring cup in her left hand. In each of the dreams, she has asked for something different—sometimes sugar, sometimes milk, sometimes cream, sometimes salsa, sometimes peanut oil. Once she even asked for cloves of garlic. He invites her into the front room, takes the cup, and finds the spice or ingredient she needs back in the kitchen. When he returns to the darkening room, she is always sitting on the couch, twirling a strand of auburn hair with one hand, and, with the other, patting the couch, signaling him to sit down next to her, next to her shapely form.
Her lips are pouty and beyond energized. She breathes heavily, with poignant and powerful desire. Her legs cross and uncross rhythmically. Um. Can you feel the heat?
Johnny always places the cup on his beat-up old coffee table and looks into Julia’s clear eyes—crystal pools of composure and need.
She puts her arms around him and nuzzles his chicken-skin wrinkly neck, and then she snuggles into Johnny. Now her lips are moist and panting. The old guy reaches out and hugs her, feels her curves, and is overwhelmed by a gloaming sense of comfort, love, connection. Her breath is sweet, her hands are satin, and the moment is warm and complete. One might say his senses are satiated, short circuited, nurtured, mesmerized, and radicalized. In other words, he is turned on but in a very private, emotionally pure, and enriched manner.
He smells her grace and beauty. Her grey eyes look into his for just a moment, and he can see into eternity—blazing, abrupt, and terrifying. The smart phones are silent; the music is quiet. Only her pulsating and harmonic breathing remains. The aroma of the eternal, the archetypical perfect female drifts into his nostrils. His being becomes an integrated whole—unified and sanctified. She murmurs pleasantries, licks his left ear lobe, then stands up, straightens her straps, and leaves, thanking him for the cupful. He admires her tight jeans, her straight hair, and her long neck as she leaves the room.
But the dream is always pure and potent and always the same. And comet quick! The sequence takes about thirty seconds, probably. This is the most love Johnny has ever felt.
And he wakes up tired, turns on the calcium-corroded coffee pot, and lurches into another lonely day.
Sometimes when Johnny was outside, he would see Julia coming down the street, perhaps walking the dog, or jogging, or visiting a friend. At such times, old Johnny turned away; he could not bear to see her curves, straight hair, and grey eyes. How much eternity could a man take?
Truth was Julia wasn’t married. Oddly enough, she often thought of old Roz and wondered about his life, his style, his weltanschauung. Crazy. She was miserable, too.