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Monthly Archives: March 2020

“Safe from what?” #MFRWhooks

 

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In a small town, in a popular bar, beautiful women disappear. This could just be a coincidence, but private investigators, Carson, Matt and Nathalie don’t believe in them. So they go undercover.

 

However, when one of the missing women turns up dead, the trio is disturbed to learn the woman bore a striking resemblance to Nathalie; they increase their efforts. When Nathalie disappears from the same bar, Carson and Matt will do anything to find her.

 

*Contains explicit descriptions of sex, strong language, and descriptions of violence.*

Excerpt

Quiet sobbing bounced off the cinderblocks, before a creak overhead cut through the sound.

“Shh,” Ruth hissed. “He’s coming.”

Thump-thump-thump. Agatha stared at the exposed floor joists and followed the dull creaks and thumps with her eyes. If she leaned far to the left she could just make out a set of rickety steps at the far end of the room.

Were they in a basement or cellar? It had to be a cellar since the floor was solid packed dirt and not concrete. She touched the wall. Cool, but not damp. She squinted at the mortar. New. She swung her attention to the bars and wood at the front of the cell.

The iron held a faint sheen or newness, same as the door. No warping or dullness to give it that old and neglected feel. She sniffed the air. The faint scent of fresh cut wood filled her nostrils. She sniffed again. Was that varnish she smelled?

Clomp-clomp squeak. Tension rose. Agatha tightened her hands into fists at her side. She held her breath as the footsteps came closer. His scent, a subtle woodsy pine, hit her first.

“Good evenings, ladies,” he greeted. His voice was low and gravelly, like he’d been a chain smoking hardcore drunkard all his life. “I trust you’re giving our new edition the rules?”

“Why did you bring me here?” Agatha demanded.

He moved closer, but his face remained in shadows. “To keep you safe?”

“Safe from what?”

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Daylight Savings #MFRWauthor

Daylight Savings came about in an effort to conserve energy sometime in the early 1900s.  At that time, I’m sure it was a radical and welcomed concept that people would be able to work longer in the spring and summer months and work a little less in the fall and winter. But what about now, when we have wind farms, solar panels, gas, and electricity? Is there still a need for Daylight Savings?

 

Not really. I could be a little biased since I live in Florida and enjoy the sunshine more than I did when I lived in Michigan. Yes, there was sun in the Mitten, but  it isn’t as bright and brilliant as The Sunshine State.

 

I always enjoyed being able to stay out later, the sun doesn’t set until about 8:30p or later in those summer months, versus the sun setting around 4p. We’d see darkness at 6 and think it’s time to go to bed.

 

It would be nice to not have to reset the clocks. Atomic clocks are wonderful and you don’t have to remember to set them. Florida has passed a law to remove the state from Daylight Savings and just waiting to have it approved.

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Book Tour – His True Love by Lynn Chantale

 

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In a small town, in a popular bar, beautiful women disappear. This could just be a coincidence, but private investigators, Carson, Matt and Nathalie don’t believe in them. So they go undercover.

 

However, when one of the missing women turns up dead, the trio is disturbed to learn the woman bore a striking resemblance to Nathalie; they increase their efforts. When Nathalie disappears from the same bar, Carson and Matt will do anything to find her.

 

*Contains explicit descriptions of sex, strong language, and descriptions of violence.*

Excerpt

Weeping, the kind which does its best to go unnoticed, filled the ominous silence. The constant whimper invaded the consciousness of the woman sprawled half on half off the bed. With effort the woman forced her heavy lids open and blinked in the frail darkness. She shifted, then toppled to the hard packed earth with a grunt.

Gripping her pounding head, she sat cross legged on the floor and rested her back against the wall. She rolled spit around her mouth in an effort to loosen her swollen tongue from the roof of her mouth.  What the heck happened?

“Sean?” she croaked. Her voice was low and rusty from disuse. Had she passed out? They, she and her fiancé Sean, hadn’t even had that much to drink.

“No Sean here,” came a shaky singsong voice.

Had she passed out somewhere else? She shifted, moaning when her stomach shifted and slid like old grease on water. “This isn’t funny, Sean.” Finally she looked upward.

Not home. No where near home.

Weak sunlight filtered through the dingy mullioned glass block windows. From somewhere, a woman wept as if trying to do it in secret. The dirt floor was hard, and sported a colorful rug, a camped with a stingy mattress and rolled sleeping bag sat in one corner. While a toilet and shower, well more like a hose with a nozzle occupied the other corner. At least that section of the room had an actual floor. The faint stench of sewage gave her an idea of what was supposed to go on there.

Definitely not at home.

Rough gray cinder blocks formed the walls and thick wood and bars made up the front of the cell. A soft, soothing alto sang an old Cyndi Lauper song, something about girls having fun.

She was not having fun. She wanted to go home. She didn’t want to be in this dirty, filthy, hovel waiting for God knew what or even worse for whoever had grabbed her to come back and  and do what? Her heart pounded at the question.

 

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