Book 3 of my fun Country Cousin Mysteries is part of a 14 Author collection of brand new mysteries entitled, Summer Snoops UNLEASHED. I’m proud to be part of this great collection of mysteries! Helping senior dogs is a cause that I not only cherish, but I also can identify with. Over the years, my husband and I have rescued several senior animals. You can’t imagine the feeling of love and happiness these wonderful pets give you. Yes, there are challenges. But there are challenges with anything you do that’s worthwhile.
I hope you’ll buy a copy of Summer Snoops UNLEASHED today if you haven’t already. And if you have, please consider supporting the shelters we’ve selected for our proceeds (shown below). These are wonderful, worthy organizations that are really making a difference for homeless, needy pets.
Bless you and thank you so much for your support for this important cause! ❤️❤️
Something emerged from the shadows. The shape didn’t move like a cat. It wasn’t graceful. In fact, it sort of shuffled rather than walked. I suddenly feared that my sweet kitten had hurt himself. “Are you okay, buddy?”
The shape reached the light and I found myself staring into a pair of bulging black eyes, surrounded by a scaly green head and a fat, squishy body.
I yelped, jumping back in surprise as the frog leaped into the air and thumped against the underside of the shelf.
“A frog!” I squealed, backpedaling as fast as I could on my knees until I bumped up against the base of the counter.
More thumping ensued. Then Wicked’s head emerged and he glowered at me. “Meow!”
I felt strangely compelled to defend myself. “What do you want me to do?”
The cat yowled unhappily, disappearing back underneath the shelf with a final snap of his tail.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I sighed. The frog was clearly stuck under the shelving. Every time he tried to hop out from under there, he bashed against the underside of the shelf. “I just…” I scrubbed a hand over my face, wondering who I could call to extricate him.
“Yowwww!”
“Sprite’s trousers, Wicked!” I exclaimed in frustration. “I don’t touch frogs. You know this. We’ve discussed it at length.” Not that he’d understood any of it. But he seemed determined to force me into touching this one so I felt the need to remind him. “They’re slimy and give me hives.”
I wasn’t sure that latter was strictly true. But panic was making my pulse race and I had to tell myself something.
Thump. Thump.
The poor thing was going to give itself brain damage. Wait. What was I saying? Frogs don’t have brains. Do they?
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.
“Ugh!” I exclaimed, “I’m coming!”
I repositioned myself on the floor, glancing along the line of shelves. Maybe I could just cut the shelf down the middle so he could hop out.
“Meow!!!”
Growling unhappily. I pressed my cheek against the carpet and looked underneath again. The bulging black eyes seemed to be closer to the edge. Maybe he’d managed to move himself, I thought excitedly. Maybe he didn’t need me after all.
The black eyes slowly blinked and the frog’s body quivered. He looked so sad. I stared into those protruding eyes and something inside me shifted. I felt…pity.
“Trolls boogers,” I murmured unhappily, knowing what I had to do.
I pulled air into my lungs and tugged a wisp of calming magic forward, unsure I’d be able to do it. My hand inched closer and stopped as the black, unfathomable gaze pinned me in place. The frog’s body swelled and shrank as it breathed, and its tiny feet shifted uncertainly as my hand came close.
My fingers twitched. My hand stilled in midair. All I could think about was the last and only time I’d touched a frog. It had been cool and slimy to the touch, and its slime had painted my hand, giving me an unsightly rash that had lasted for weeks.
Nothing I’d done had helped the rash. Until I’d accidentally gotten blasted by a ray of healing magic.
I couldn’t count on a random witch shooting healing magics at me a second time. Or, considering my unhealthy relationship with the Quillerans, a non-random one either.
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump…Meow!
I sighed, dropping my head to the floor in defeat. “Okay, chillax you two. I’m doing this.”
Before I could change my mind, I quickly extended my hand and wrapped my fingers around the thick, squishy body, jerking it toward me and then releasing it with a squeal and another awkward crawling retreat.
The frog hunched on the carpet, staring at me with its throat working, its puffy body looking iridescent under the overhead lights. I rubbed my hand against my jeans, grimacing, before realizing my hand wasn’t slimy. Not at all. And the touch memory of the frog’s soft, warmish skin still clung to it.
“Ribbit,” the frog said. It gave an experimental hop in my direction and stopped as I twitched with disgust. “Ribbit.”
Mr. Wicked suddenly appeared at my elbow. He gave me soft eyes and rubbed against my knee as I stared in horror at the frog. It had just occurred to me that my trauma wasn’t over. I still had a frog in my bookstore.
“Now what am I going to do with you?” I murmured. I had no idea what frogs needed to live. I wasn’t equipped to deal with amphibians. I was totally a dry land kind of girl. What did they eat? Did they need water to survive?
A spec of black buzzed past me and Wicked’s paw shot up, swiping at the fly. The unfortunate insect dodged sideways to avoid the threatening paw, and flew directly into deadly frog territory.
Quick as a wink, the frog’s tongue snapped out and snatched the fly right out of the air. He seemed to shudder as if even he was disgusted by the action.
“Well,” I said, grimacing. “I guess the food thing’s taken care of for the moment.”
I shoved to my feet. “Tomorrow, I’ll ask Sebille to take you to her family in the woods. You can live on their pond,” I inexplicably explained to the frog and the cat.
With that decision made, I felt better. But just in case, I went into the bathroom and grabbed Wicked’s water dish, filling it up and carrying it out to place in front of the frog. “If you need a drink or…you know…a bath or something.”
“Ribbit.”
“Yowl!” Wicked gave me stink eye.
I shrugged. “Hey, it was your bright idea to save him. I guess you’re going to have to take this one for the team.”
She’s got a lot more to lose now…and somebody’s determined to make sure she loses it all.
Blaise is at it again. She’s still searching
for that perfect job. But even when she thinks she might have found a job that
could be more of a career than just a 9 to 5 gig, something always happens to
get in her way.
Usually, that something involves a corpse…
But this time, Blaise’s past comes back to
haunt her in a big way. She’d thought she put that whole, seeing a murder on
the beach thing behind her. But it seems somebody doesn’t want to leave the
past where it belongs.
And her past problems are about to become her
current nightmare.
She’s just trying to live her life. But someone doesn’t want to let go of the past. And that means not letting go of her!
“Just think of it as a giant party,” Blaise’s friend, Suz Whatsnoggin told her, grinning.
“It will be just like working at the bar,” Dolfe offered,
taking a long swig of his icy cold beer.
Tyrese shook his head. “Not really. There are no Bridezillas
at the bar.”
Dolfe’s handsome face filled with worry. “Bridezilla? I
don’t know what that is but I’m pretty sure I don’t like the sound of it.”
Blaise winced, imploring her friends with her eyes not to
inform her sexy fiancé about the horrors of dealing with a nervous bride. It
was the last thing Blaise wanted him to think about on the virtual eve of their
own wedding.
Well…if you consider “within the next year” the eve.
Fortunately, Suz caught what her friend was throwing. “It’s
nothing you need to ever worry about, Honeybun.” She winked at Blaise.
But Dolfe was not a stupid man. In fact, he was probably
even smarter than he was good-looking, Blaise thought. And that was a lot of
smart. “It’s just a mean term used for brides who get the jitters,” she told
him in as offhand a way as she could muster. “Suz is right. You’ll never
experience that with me. I’m a rock.”
He grinned. “A rock, huh?” Being the aforementioned smart
hottie, Dolfe was wise enough not to venture any further into those tempestuous
seas. He simply smiled, shaking his head, and took another sip of his beer.
Tyrese apparently wasn’t smart enough to stay out of the storm.
He dove right in, daring the waves to swamp him. “I have no delusions. If Suz
and I choose to get married someday, she’ll be the queen of bridezillas. My Suz
will own the term.” He shook his head
as Suz gave him a quelling look. “I love me some strong woman. I have my own
special way of easing her nerves.”
When he waggled his brows, Suz rolled her eyes. “Stupidity,
thy name is Tyrese.”
Ty’s leer slid away. “Babe!” He leaned across the table, one
long, brown finger tucking up beneath her delicate chin and lifting. “You know
you’re cray-cray about me.”
She leaned in too, her lips a mere breath from his as she
released the Kraken. “Dude,” Suz said in her sexiest voice. “You know, if we
ever did decide to tie the knot, I’d just be marrying you for your last name,
right?”
Ty laughed. “What? You don’t want to lumber through life
with the name Whatsnoggin anymore?”
Suz smacked him on the arm.
Blaise shook her head. “Please tell me you didn’t just go
there,” she said.
Dolfe winced. “We
don’t make fun of a person’s name around here, man. It’s not in good taste,” said
the guy named Honeybun.
Ty’s smile withered. “She started it.”
Suz snorted. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? A
playground excuse?”
Ty shrugged. “Look, I love your weird name, babe. It’s just
one of the many funny little oddities that make you special.”
Dolfe groaned and Blaise sucked in a gasp. “Ty!”
Suz stared at him for a long moment, her pretty face so
lacking in expression it was an expression all on its own. It was a face that
said, you are so dead, while simultaneously declaring a total lack of concern.
Tyrese slowly lost his swagger and began to wilt, until he
became little more than a handsome puddle in the delicate chair. When he was so
puddly he looked ready to slither bonelessly off the chair onto the newly
carpeted floor, Suz finally gave him a tight smile. “Just for that, if we ever
decide to get married, Tyrese Miller, you’re going to take my name.”
Everybody gasped at that, followed by Dolfe’s low chuckle.
“Snap!” Blaise told her friends, knocking dainty knuckles
with Suz.
“Come on, girlfriend,” Suz told Blaise. “Help me count the
new shipment of linen napkins that just came in?”
Blaise stood, winking at Tyrese. “You’d better pull together
your best defrazzling game, son. That’s one ticked off ‘special’ girl right
there.” Blaise grinned as she followed Suz’s angrily swaying behind toward the
door at the back of the enormous room. Behind her, she heard Dolfe’s deep
chuckle as Ty whined at him in a voice that sounded like seagulls on a stormy beach.
Suz stopped at the open storage room door and grinned. “That
should keep him on his toes for a while.”
Blaise laughed softly. “Oh yeah.”
Before going inside, the two of them stood in the doorway
and looked around at the massive main space. It was a gorgeous room, elegant
and clean, with lots of light and clean, simple lines. Blaise was impressed by
her friend’s vision and decorating skills.
“It’s really beautiful, Suz.”
Her friend sighed, leaning companionably against Blaise’s
shoulder. “It is, isn’t it?”
Blaise nodded. When Suz had first come to her with the idea
of a wedding reception barn venue, Blaise had thought Suz had lost her mind.
But her friend had quickly sold the plan, backing up her excitement with lots
of rock-solid information that supported both the need and profitability of the
venture.
With Blaise’s help and Dolfe’s investment in time and effort,
Ty and Suz had turned the dream into reality in only a few short months.
They’d found a big, dusty barn out in the country on twenty
acres of farmland and woods. The property featured a picturesque creek running
along behind the main building, a wide lawn with old growth evergreens, and a
lovely bridge over the creek that would make a perfect spot for pictures.
Ty and Suz had turned the interior of the metal-sided barn
into a beautiful space, with rustic looking cedar walls, a tall ceiling with
the original beams, and cream-colored carpet that Blaise couldn’t help thinking
was going to be Hell on Earth to keep clean.
The public portion of the venue mostly consisted of one,
giant room, with an alcove for coats and gifts, two bathrooms, and an open-air
patio out back that served both as an outdoor kitchen and smoking lounge. The
roof of the lounge was outfitted with industrial-sized heaters for cooler
nights, and giant ceiling fans for sultry summer nights. The structure was
mostly enclosed, with one wall entirely open so that smoke from cigars or the
grill could escape harmlessly out into the night. The view through the open wall included the
pretty little creek and bridge, as well as a few acres of grass, flower beds,
and evergreen trees.
It was actually a really nice space that Blaise hoped they’d
be able to use for future Honeybun parties. It was large enough to accommodate
a family as big as the Honeybuns, even as they continued to grow.
The non-public part of the venue consisted of a storage room
with a small office at the back, and a caterer’s kitchen with restaurant-grade
appliances.
The main room held fifty tables that were big enough to seat
eight to ten people each, with chairs that Suz had covered in frilly white
covers. Overhead, crystal chandeliers looked both opulent and kitschy against
the age-darkened wood and were complimented by yard after yard of gossamer
drapings, which hung from the rustic beams.
They’d added a small dance floor on one end, with a raised
stage and glossy wood floors.
A swinging metal door in the back corner of the main space
led to the caterer’s kitchen, which contained ample refrigeration, a bank of
industrial microwaves for reheating food that was brought in for events, and a
couple of long, wide, stainless-steel counters for food prep. They’d added the
kitchen space on Dolfe’s suggestion, and it had required building a small annex
of the main building. But Blaise realized it had absolutely been the right
thing to do, and she was happy her friends had listened to her very smart
fiancé.
Blaise had been intrigued as the couple turned the ugly
building into something straight out of a fairy tale. All her doubts had slowly
been swept away as she saw the enormous potential there.
And the last hurdle had been breached when they got their
first clients, who were on their way to the venue at that very moment for a
walk-thru.
Suz took a deep breath. “This is really going to happen,
isn’t it?”
Wrapping an arm around her friend, Blaise nodded, “It really
is.”
“I hope this couple isn’t difficult,” Suz said, frowning.
She chewed on her bottom lip, clearly affected by the whole bridezilla
conversation.
“We’ll deal with whatever happens,” Blaise said soothingly.
Suz nodded, giving Blaise a wide smile. “Have I told you
that I’m so happy you’re here to help us get this off the ground?”
“Only five times today,” Blaise said, laughing. “But
remember, it’s only for the first few months.” The wedding reception venue
concept felt too much like working in a bar for Blaise’s taste. She was happy
to help out, but it wasn’t what she wanted to do long-term for a living.
“I know,” her friend said on a sigh. “But a girl can dream,
can’t she?”
“She absolutely can.” Blaise swung her arm to encompass the entire space. “Look what happens when she does.”
Grab your copy of Risky Venue at its temporary New Release price!
Hi! I’m Flo from Silver Hills. I’m so glad to meet you, hun. I don’t have a lot of time because Agnes and I are about to go to yoga class and we need to make sure to get a spot at the front of the class. Why, you ask? Oh, you haven’t read Dose Vidanya yet have you? LOL All jokes aside, that was a very trying time for us. Finding that dead guy so close to the Book Club cookie table just about did Agnes in. Especially when some well-meaning person told her they thought dead-guy spores might be airborne. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Agnes regret eating cookies before. Oh, you’ve never met my friend Agnes? She’s a great friend and very loyal. But there are challenges to being around her. For one thing, she’s never met a crime scene she couldn’t debauch. A fact that has tested young Detective Peters’ anger management skills many times.
In Freezer Bernie, Agnes was at the top of her game. When she accidentally dumped lemon gelato into the victim’s gunshot wound…well…let’s just say it was a good thing Detective Peters didn’t have easy access to his weapon on that one!
Being around Agnes can occasionally get a bit slap-sticky. But that’s half of her appeal, hun. The fact that she’s a genuinely kind person is definitely the other half. Sam injects humor in almost all her stories, but she puts an extra little punch of it in the Silver Hills books. She says the humor is as much a part of the plot as solving the mystery. I think she’s right because I’ve made so many good friends since the series started. People feel like they know us after reading the books, and they tell me they want to move into Silver Hills!Oh, by the way, did you know there was a new Silver Hills book available? There is! Fowl Campaign hit the shelves a couple of days ago. And the best news is that right now it’s only $2.99, in honor of the new release. If you enjoy a great murder with fun characters and a healthy dose of humor, you should grab a copy while it’s still on sale. Thanks for visiting with me, hun. I hope to see you in the pages of a Silver Hills book soon!
hugs,
Flo
“Once I started this newest Silver Hills adventure, I couldn’t put it down! What a rollercoaster ride this book is!!!! I laughed out loud and had my blood pressure elevate at several points. Sam Cheever has done it again!!!!!”
Come to Silver Hills. Where fowl plans can either mean
dinner out, or the deadly designs of a
chicken-livered killer.
When Vlad’s opponent for the Silver City mayoral race succumbs
to fowl deeds, he seriously changes the
pecking order in Vlad’s favor. But the victim’s death has made Vlad king of the
roost, so the Silver Hills night manager quickly becomes the obvious suspect.
Plucky investigators Flo and Co. are certainly no strangers
to Vlad’s evil ways. But they’re also not egg-xactly
convinced he did it. So, when Flo learns that the victim, a wealthy local chicken
farmer, had been trying to reach her when he was killed, she’s more than a
little curious why.
Will their investigation shine a light on a killer’s fowl deeds before he flies the coop? Or will
Flo chicken out when the villain threatens to go all cock-a-doodle-do on her
bad self? There’s only one way to find out. And you already know what it is…
Yep,
Flo and Co. are goin’ in, tail feathers high!
Fowl Campaign is Book 8 in my fun Silver Hills Cozy Mysteries. For many of you, your first experience with a Sam Cheever book was Flo Charts, the series prequel. Lots of things have changed since those first days when Flo and Agnes met and jumped into their first mystery together.
New characters have appeared, old characters have grown and changed, and relationships have taken interesting turns. But one thing has never changed throughout this series. Flo’s and Agnes’s friendship. When all is said and done, I believe that’s what makes these books so much fun.
Sure, it’s entertaining to see the new and different ways Agnes finds to get into trouble. And yeah, it’s educational to watch Flo navigate through all the challenges and personalities, using a strong intellect, pure old-fashioned stubbornness, and a dose of substitute teacher pluck to solve every problem. But I believe the real gold of the books is in the way the two women get along. Their affectionate ribbing. The respect they have for each other. And the way they have each other’s backs through even the murkiest problems.
That’s what makes you feel good as you read the last sentence in every book. Because you know you might be leaving them behind for a minute. But they won’t be alone. And neither will you! All you need to do is turn the page of another Silver Hills book to be right there among friends again.
I hope you’ll pick up a copy of Fowl Campaign and join the fun. And if you’re so inclined, drop a brief review on Amazon so that others will know it’s a good book to read.
When the boundary between worlds is breached, lives are at risk, balance is disrupted and nothing is the same.
I closed my eyes, drawing the energy that sizzled in my core into my fingers and allowing it to ease into Becksmart’s flesh. I controlled the speed of its insertion, knowing that it would be easy to lose control if the energy waiting within the husk of his body was hostile or hungry.
I looked for a spark of life that I could grasp. It was unusual for every bit of life energy to be evicted from the body immediately upon death. A small portion of magic usually remained for a while, a residual energy that I was able to tap into if I was lucky. That remainder was what I would use to read the deceased’s final moments.
Unfortunately, I’d never tried to read a human soul. Because that was what the energy translated to in a human. What was a life force made of pure supernatural energy in a magic user, was something much more ethereal in a human. Something that went beyond magic and was tethered to the spiritual realm.
I had no idea if my energy could even meld with that insubstantial force, let alone pull something out of it. When nothing immediately happened, I increased the energy, sending my explorative tentacles deeper. I probed more meticulously in my search for that spark of remaining energy.
Rummaging around in there for several moments, I found nothing.
Then suddenly, something changed. I touched a spark, seeing an internal flare of light as the energy pulsed into life, contracting and drawing away from my foreign power.
I went very still, retracting the probing energy slightly so I didn’t cause Becksmart’s life force to retract again. I waited, expanding my sensors in an attempt to identify the tiny speck of energy. It was very different from what I was used to. Purer, less stark. Like a golden thread floating gently in a pool of mercury. I got the sense it would like to be set free. I needed to be very careful that I wasn’t the vehicle it used to gain that freedom.
Aside from not knowing what residual effects that might have on me, I needed to read the energy before it fled the world for good.
A hand touched my shoulder. “LA, are you all right?”
I shook off Deg’s touch, frowning. On the outside edge of my awareness, I knew I was breathing really hard, and that sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades, but I still felt as if I had some level of control.
That feeling didn’t last very long.
The fearful speck of energy that had cowered away from my touch suddenly pulsed stronger and exploded into a painfully bright and burning essence. It flashed out and scorched my energy like fire, causing me to scream and pull away. But the energy followed, shooting toward me as I retreated, and I realized what it was doing.
Just before it would have ridden my magic into the ether, escaping me for good, I forced myself to stop retreating. Gritting my teeth against the agony to come, I wrapped the tentacles of my magic around Becksmart’s life force and held on as it writhed and pulsed in an attempt to escape.
Its touch was pure torture, sizzling against my unprotected power and burning it away as fast as I could send more to hold it there. My throat hurt. On some level I was aware I was screaming, beyond the ability to hold it in.
Deg wrapped himself around me and added his energy to mine, reinforcing my hold of Becksmart’s soul. He tensed against me and I heard his hiss of pain. But sharing the discomfort made it more bearable, and I slammed my lips shut on the screams that throbbed there.
I focused on reading the energy. Looking for a signature of the foreign power Tollman suspected had killed the reporter.
There was something hiding behind the painful brightness of the soul. Something darker and more familiar. I sensed its latent energy skulking there but couldn’t get a proper read with all the interference between us.
I couldn’t feel its essence or read the DNA of its magical makeup, but I felt its hostility like a low level hum behind Becksmart’s soul. With a start, I realized the foreign magic was shoving the piece of human soul at me, trying to push me out.
Do you feel that? I asked Deg through our internal communication channel. I felt his nod in my head.
We need to get past the soul, he ground out, clearly in a lot of pain. I realized in that moment that he was taking on the brunt of it so I could do what I needed to do.
But I won’t be able to read his last moments if I do that.
It’s one or the other, he gasped in my head.
He was right. We could either try to see Becksmart’s last moments, or we could attempt to identify his killer. It was a risk either way. With the reporter’s soul doing such a good job of blocking, we could fail to uncover the deadly magic and lose everything. Or I could try to read his last moments and not be shown the killer. I couldn’t script what I’d be shown. What was there was what I’d see.
I had to decide. And I had to do it fast. I could feel Deg’s energy failing him more with every passing second.
Then the decision was ripped away. Becksmart’s soul flared again, sizzling against our combined energy, and Deg screamed, the agony-filled sound like razors over my skin. My magic faltered and fell away, retreating so quickly I didn’t have time to adjust as it shoved Deg and me so hard we flew backward and smashed up against the far wall.
“Tollman!” I screamed, as a pale yellow whisper of energy trickled from Becksmart’s gaping lips and shot toward the ceiling.
To his credit, the Angel was quick on the draw. His hand shot out and he grabbed for the wisp of soul, wrapping one big hand around it and drawing it in.
The wisp of yellow mist sunk into his palm, and his skin glowed brightly beneath it. I pushed to my feet, my gaze locked on the Angel.
He stood very still, his eyes closed and his head back. The skin of his outstretched palm rolled beneath some kind of impossible force.
How could so much power be captured in such a small amount of energy?
Suddenly, Tollman’s head snapped up and his eyes shot open. His fingers jerked straight, and his entire hand flashed a bright, silver aura, the energy snapping like a raging fire before extinguishing in a soft gasp of air.
I shoved hair out of my face and rubbed my back where I’d slammed into the wall. “Did you get anything?” I asked the Angel.
For a moment, he didn’t seem to hear me, then his gaze slid slowly to mine. His eyes were glassy, and I knew he wasn’t really seeing Deg and Me.
“Tollman?” Deg said, coming up beside me. “Are you okay?”
The Angel blinked. He looked at his hand and slowly squeezed the fingers closed before answering. “It was something dark. Ugly. But I couldn’t get a signature.”
His voice was soft, breathy. He stared at his hand as if whatever he’d experienced had affected him strongly.
“Was it human or magical?” I asked, feeling dread like a lump of clay in my belly.
His mahogany brows lowered. He unfurled his fingers and stared at the skin I’d watched shifting under Becksmart’s soul energy a moment earlier.
He finally dropped the hand and jerked his gaze to us. “I have to go.”
As he hurried past, I lifted a hand to stop him, but the hand inexplicably missed, cutting through empty air. Before I had time to blink, Tollman was through the door and it had slammed closed behind him, causing me to jump under the violence of its closing.
I looked at Deg. “What just happened?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea. But whatever it was, I think it’s a pretty good bet that it wasn’t a positive development.”
Grab Your Copy of Nothing Familiar at a discounted release price!
A dead Realtor, a cranky cat, an adorable, depressed pibl, and a boyfriend who hasn’t been…shall we say…totally honest recently. Joey’s got bigger problems than figuring out when she’ll get her next slice of banana cream pie. Though that certainly ranks high on her list of concerns.
I’ve always been perfectly aware of my shortcomings as a
person.
Mostly.
I consider myself generally a good person. With good
instincts about people and a desire to be kind to others unless they’re unkind
to me. But I do have an aversion to pushy people. Which has put me on the wrong
side of salesmen of all kinds more than once.
My second least favorite of these is real estate agents. Not
that being a Realtor is innately bad. It’s just that the act of buying or
selling a house is way too much like dealing with used car salesmen for my
taste.
Which brings me to my first least favorite type of salesmen.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a car
salesman standing on my porch that sunny, cool-ish fall day in the rural area
just outside of Deer Hollow, Indiana.
But it might as well have been.
The woman standing in front of Caphy and me had lipstick on
her teeth and hair that looked as if squirrels might have built it on her head
for nesting. Lucky for her my dog was much more tolerant than I was. Even when
she was being none-too-subtly dissed by said lipstick-teethed intruder.
“Miss Fulle, you should chain that beast up.”
The hand on Caphy’s collar tightened briefly as I fought to
contain my instant rage. Cacophony, Caphy for short, was about the sweetest
animal that ever lived. She was more than my best friend. I credited her with
saving my life when I’d gone into the deepest depression imaginable after my
parents were killed in a plane crash on our property.
She was also a pit bull.
And that was all some people saw when they looked at her.
Caphy smiled at the woman, her muscular tail whipping
painfully against my leg. She whined softly, quivering with friendly
excitement.
I drew myself up to my full five feet four inches, tucked a
strand of shoulder-length red-blonde hair behind one ear, and narrowed my blue
eyes at her. “She’s fine,” I told the
woman with the squirrel’s nest for hair. “She lives here. Whereas you…” I let
my statement trail away, allowing my uninvited guest to gather my implication
all by herself.
The woman frowned slightly, moving a purse the size of her extra-large
backside in front of her like a shield. “Oh…um…okay. Well.” She extended her
hand a few inches in front of her, a white rectangle stuck between two short
fingers. “Here’s my card. My name is Penney Sellers. I was wondering if you’re
interested in selling your house.”
I blinked several times. “Not in the least.”
As I responded, I realized it was true. After my parents’
death, when I initially learned that I’d inherited the house and the family auction
business, my first thought was to sell the too-big house rather than live here.
Too many painful memories existed within its familiar walls. I still thought
I’d sell eventually. But I wasn’t quite ready to make that decision.
The auction business was another matter entirely. I still
hadn’t accepted the responsibility they’d left in my less-than-capable hands.
There was no way I could fill their shoes in the business, and being there was just
too painful for me to face.
I glanced down at the card, grimacing at the obviousness of
the woman’s name. “Is Penney Sellers really
your name?”
In response she gave
me a slightly snotty smile. “I can offer you a premium price. There aren’t many
homes in this area of this quality.”
“Not interested. You do know there’s a huge subdivision
going up on the south side of Deer Hollow,
right?” Of course she knew that. But I
was making a point.
“Those houses are fine. But they don’t have the…” She swung her arms toward the pond and
the trees. “Ambiance. The setting here is truly spectacular.”
“Thank you. But I’m not interested in selling.” I backed into
the house, tugging gently on Caphy’s collar. Her gaze locked onto the other
woman, who’d taken a step toward the door as if she was thinking about pushing
her way inside. A low growl emerged from Caphy’s throat and the hair in front
of her tail spiked.
Penney Sellers stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze shooting
to the endlessly sweet creature who was giving her fair warning.
But Caphy’s warning didn’t stop the realtor’s mouth from
moving. “Do you own all those woods over there?” The woman asked. Her
expression was perfectly innocent. But there was a gleam in her eye that I
didn’t like.
“Yes. All the way to the big stone marker on Goat’s Hollow Road. 100 acres.”
The gleam flared, making her look positively demonic. “A
hundred acres! My goodness. I’d love to talk to you about subdividing the
property. We could build a dozen homes and still have sizeable properties.”
“Not interested. Thanks for stopping by.”
“But…”
I slammed the door in her face and locked it. Pressing my
ear against the warm wood, I listened for her to climb into her car and drive
away before I took a full breath. A soft whine drew my gaze to Caphy. “It’s all
right, girl. She’s gone.”
The pibl’s tail
snapped sideways once and then she nuzzled me, snorting softly. She was
sensitive to my moods, and the alarm I
was feeling was no doubt putting her on edge. I couldn’t have explained the
panic tightening my chest if someone offered me a thousand dollars to do it.
It was an unreasonable fear. But undeniable.
Nobody could force me to sell my house. Nobody could make me
give up my private little wonderland. It was all I had left of my parents.
It was also the place where Caphy and I had grown up. Where
we’d run and played, where I’d climbed trees and learned to swim. But the new
subdivision was affecting my life in ways I hadn’t expected. When I’d first
learned it was coming it had seemed harmless. After all, the three hundred acre
plot on the south side of Deer Hollow
was miles away from me. The homes were supposed to be decent ones, built on
quarter acre lots and not all exactly the same. I reasoned it would be nice to
have some new blood in town.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t counted on the other stuff that came
with those homes. The constant traffic through town from looky-loos. The noise, mess, and invasion of people who thought the town had
been conjured up for their enjoyment.
And the realtors, builders and construction people who
clogged the streets and turned the few restaurants Deer Hollow boasted into hotbeds of noise and inaccessibility at
meal times.
Still, I could deal with all that.
It was the other thing that had my nerves thrumming like a
banjo in the mountains of Kentucky.
The sense of impending doom.
I couldn’t explain it. Hadn’t experienced it before. And I
suspected it had something to do with the body we’d discovered in my woods not
all that long ago. I was pretty sure I wasn’t completely over finding that
mangled corpse or the terrifying events that came after.
Whatever the cause, it was all too real.
And it was making me as jumpy as a fat-legged frog in a
French restaurant.
When the article declaring Deer Hollow as one of the best places to raise a family in the
United States came out in the The
Indianapolis Star weeks earlier, I’d never expected such a vast and
immediate change in my world.
But suddenly the Hollow
was on the news almost every night. Articles were being written about what a
great spot it was. The local artists, authors, and
businesses were being examined, highlighted, and, in some cases, given an anal
probe, the likes of which the people in my little community had never experienced.
Our recent murder-driven scandal had been examined, the
article’s author lamenting the fact that it had apparently been overlooked when
choosing America’s favorite spots to live.
But, so far, my family’s involvement had been blissfully
absent from speculation. A fact I thought had much to do with a certain
uber-sexy PI and his connections with the FBI.
For that, I was both
grateful and tense.
I felt as if the other shoe was going to drop at any moment.
Hi. My name is Caphy, short for Cacophony. My best friend Joey named me that because I make a lot of noise when I’m hungry, or want to play ball, or see a squirrel, or a car, a bird, a speck of dirt blowing across the floor…
Geez, I used to think she was being overly sensitive about the noise thing. But now that I look at it, she might have something there.
But anyway…
Joey doesn’t know I’m here. Ixnay on the ewsnay. She’d be mad if she knew I was whining in your ear. But something must be done. Our author’s out of control. She’s ruining my fictional life!!! Whiiiiiiinnnnnneeeee!
I’ve been Joey’s best friend for years, ever since she and her Uncle Dev rescued me from that ditch alongside the road. We’re inseparable and, other than my second-best friend Hal Amity (who launches a mean tennis ball) we’ve been a team of two for that whole time.
I like it that way.
But now Sam’s throwing a wrench into the works. Or should I say, a cranky cat? I don’t like this cat. She’s mean and spits at me a lot. Joey won’t let me eat her, so what’s a sweet, slightly scared of spitting felines, pibl to do? All that’s left for me is hiding under and behind the furniture. I’ve been sucking hairballs for a whole week now and I hate it.
Please help me talk Sam out of making Joey keep this nightmare on soundless feet. If LaLee stays around I’m going to need serious therapy. I’m talking hours of tennis ball chasing, copious amounts of rolling in stinky stuff, and boxes full of my favorite dog treats.
Look, I’m not heartless. I know the cat just lost her owner. Good boy do I know! She was swimmin’ wid’ da fishes in Joey’s pond. But that doesn’t mean I need a furever sister, does it?
No! It doesn’t. So please, do me a solid, send Sam a note and beg her not to saddle me with the cat. Pleeeeaaassseee…whiiiiiinnnnnneeeee! I’ll be your third best friend furever if you do.
DID YOU know I’m writing an entire mystery LIVE on my Super Reader’s Group? I am! Enjoy watching me build a no-turning-back, no way out mystery in Facebook posts nearly every day. Join the fun and watch the mystery unfold before your very eyes Join my Super Reader Group HERE.
IF YOU’D like to get caught up on The Terrible, Bad, Ongoing Story (TBOLS) before starting with the posts, you can read Chapters 1 through 4 on my BLOG.
Yep, it’s that time of year again. The time when everybody thinks it’s a good idea to make New Year’s Resolutions. This year, I asked Flo and Agnes about their resolutions. The following is what they told me. Though I’m not holding my breath on any of it!
Flo’s 2019 Resolution
Hello. This is Florence Bee. If you’ve followed my stories, you already know that when I decide to do something, I do it. Some might call me bull-headed, but I prefer determined. I always have to be the responsible one. The one who everybody can count on. It gets dang tedious, let me tell you, but there you have it.
So my New Year’s resolution is that I will try twice as hard to keep Agnes out of trouble. Now, mind, I’m not making any promises. I’m only human. And Agnes is like a giant, magnetic field in a room filled with needles, just sucking that trouble right to her. Things just automatically fall apart when she comes within ten miles of a crime scene. She’s helpless against the pull to destroy evidence. But it’s my duty, as her friend, to try to keep her out of trouble.
Plus, we owe it to TC. If that girl’s ever going to get married and have cute little TC mini-me’s, we need to stop causing trouble between her and that handsome detective she likes so much.kes so much.
Agnes’s 2019 Resolution
Hey everybody! This is Agnes Willard from Silver Hills. Yeah, I heard what Flo’s resolution is. I don’t understand the problem. I don’t mess up Detective Peters’ crime scene’s on purpose. If stuff happens when I’m there, it’s not my fault. Things happen for a reason, right?
For example, I refuse to take the blame for that Count Dracula fella’s head getting caught in that trap door. It was unfortunate it got flattened that way, but nobody told me I shouldn’t press the button, so it wasn’t my fault. Who among us could resist pressing a big, shiny red button? Who?
Also, I didn’t mean to knock that dead guy off the camel’s back.
And how did I know Detective Peters would misconstrue powdered donut sugar for illicit drugs?
You know that floor in Scarlett’s living room was half rotted. It’s not my fault I fell right through and pulled TC with me.
So what is my New Year’s Resolution? I’m going deep undercover to prove something very important. I’m determined to catch Vlad in the act of draining the blood from one of his victims if it’s the last thing I do. I mean, Silver City can’t have a vampire for a Mayor, can we? Yes, everybody knows politicians are soulless blood-suckers, but Vlad takes that to a whole ‘nuther level!
Oh, and I’m going to lose the three pounds that are keeping me from being absolutely perfect. I’m figuring if I cut my pie intake to one a day, that should do it. I can always up my cookie intake so my blood sugar doesn’t tank. But no more walking club with TC. Uh, uh. Not me. I’m all for a healthy lifestyle, but let’s not get carried away. A girl could do serious damage to herself plodding around on concrete like that!
Yeah, that’s 2 Resolutions. I’m an overachiever. It’s just how I roll.