Inspired Adventures

2011-09-03T17:27:00.000-07:00

Two blogs is a bit too much to handle. (As evidenced by the fact that my posts here are becoming increasingly rare!) I've decided to focus on my group blog--Inkwell Inspirations. I hope you'll look me up there.

Through the next few weeks I'll be working to make the archives as navigable as possible. I'll also add labels so that past articles are more easily searched.

Blessings,

Lisa

Beloved

2011-03-20T04:21:00.000-07:00

What is it about women that we so often don’t believe ourselves to be lovable? We crave constant affirmation. We long to be wanted, desired for who we are in our heart of hearts. And understood.

I’ve got some great news. We are!

We just don’t always realize it.

God’s love is not a feeling. It is a fact. We tend to believe we are loved only when we sense his presence. Those rare moments when all is right with our world and we lose ourselves in worship. But God’s love is no less real when the dryer’s on the fritz. His love is no less passionate when your nose is both stuffed up and runny, and everything sounds like it’s underwater. He still there in the moment when it seems your dream is dead. If your dream is dead, it’s because he’s come to replace it with a better, brighter yearning. But too often we see only the loss and cannot believe there could ever be anything more wonderful out there than to have our every longing gratified.

Believe it or not, even when it hurts, he loves us.

Perfection is not his desire. You are. If you were the only one in the world who needed him, he still would have chosen the cross.

He loves you.

When it seems like other Christians are getting away with things that you never can seem to get away with, perhaps it is merely his voice calling you closer.

You are his favorite.

The apple of his eye (Zech 2:8) and joy of his heart (Luke 15:7.) He carved your name on the palm of his hand (Isa. 49:16). What further proof could you need of his desire?

1 John 4:16-“So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love...” Doubting his love means you doubt his very nature. I don’t know how to state it any stronger. He loves you. You cannot escape his love. You might as well embrace it.

A quote has been floating around for many years. “What would you risk if you knew you could not fail?”

Beloved of the Lord, what will you do with that love? What would you risk if you knew he’d be backing you the whole way? That his grace and love are sufficient to meet every need? That you cannot out love him?

Book Recommendation-Lady in the Mist

2011-02-15T03:00:00.000-08:00

Siiigh. There’s something so satisfying about reading a good book. It’s like comfort food without the calories.

Lady in the Mist is just such a story. As the local midwife, Tabitha Eckles has unprecedented freedom for an unmarried young woman in 1809 Virginia. But with the privilege comes a host of responsibilities, including keeping other peoples’ secrets. Secrets she’d rather not know.

On the way home from a lying-in she meets handsome Englishman, Dominick Cherrett, on the beach. A beach from which American men have been disappearing, snatched from their homeland to serve the British navy.

Dominick knows about secrets too, he’s got enough to sink a British frigate. Ostensibly an indentured servant, the last thing he needs is more complications. But meeting Tabitha is just the first of many.

As the pressure mounts for both of them so does the number of missing men.

Laurie Alice does a great job of developing both the romance and the spiritual battles that her hero and heroine face. Her descriptions are crisp and her research is flawless.

I highly recommend this story to lovers of historical romance. You can find it at Barnes and Noble, Amazon or ChristianBook.com or at local retailers near you.

You can read an excerpt here.

So You Want to be a Writer

2011-01-31T05:59:00.001-08:00

This video is awesome!

The Disappearing Diva

2010-09-01T06:13:00.000-07:00

I thought it might be a fun exercise to honor some famous authors (and their characters) by writing short stories inspired by their style. Here’s my first attempt, and who better to honor than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s inimitable Sherlock Holmes. I hope you enjoy!

The Disappearing Diva

By Lisa Karon Richardson

“You’re certain it was Miss Harrington’s voice you heard?” Aurelia asked in her penetrating way.

I, Ilene Stadler, Aurelia’s confidant and companion, watched her as she in turn regarded the stage manager, one Mr. Durczek. He considered the question, revolving his hat over and over in his hands. “Certain? Yes. Miss ‘Arrington, she is the diva. There is no voice like hers.”

Aurelia jerked her head once in acknowledgment and bent with her magnifying glass to examine the doorknob to the diva’s dressing room.

Next to uncomfortable Mr. Durczek, dapper Viscount Lashley lounged against a post. I don’t suppose he could help it, lounging seemed to have been bred into his bones, and even now he couldn’t quite put any starch into his spine. “All sorts of people have been in and out by now, what do you think you’re going to find.”

Aurelia turned to him with a look that could have scoured brass. “I won’t know until I look, will I.”

“No. No I suppose not.”

Viscount Lashley and the perspiring stage manager had appeared at our lodgings less than an hour ago with one of the strangest tales I’d ever heard. Miss Sarah Harrington had taken London by storm over the last three weeks. Everyone seemed to be talking of the previously unknown genius. During this evening’s performance she had retired to her dressing room for the intermission as usual. This room was under observation by various workers the entire time. The stage manager had made the rounds and knocked on her door with the three-minute warning. The diva had sung out that she’d be right there. The curtain had gone up on schedule, but when her cue came, she didn’t appear. After an awkward pause the curtain had been lowered and a frantic search instituted. Her door was locked from the inside and the producer had finally ordered it broken open. The room had no windows and only the one door. The ventilation shafts were too small for anything larger than a puppy to wriggle through. During the few minutes in question the door had been under continuous observation and no one had gone in or come out.

And yet the fact remained that the opera star had disappeared.

Aurelia pushed open the door to reveal a small, cluttered dressing room. A vanity stood directly opposite covered in jars of creams and lotions. A screen was covered over with discarded costumes. Behind the screen the singer’s street clothing still hung neatly on a hook in the wall. Almost immediately behind the door a table held a phonograph, its needle still resting on a record.

Aurelia surveyed the room with the air of one totting up a row of sums. At last she stepped out into the hallway. “I should like to speak to everyone who observed her door during the intermission.”

Mr. Durczek motioned toward a man repainting a tired looking bit of scenery. “This is Patrick O’Fallon.” The stagehand glanced up from his work.

Aurelia tucked her magnifying glass back into its pouch. “Mr. O’Fallon, please tell me what you witnessed.”

“Didn’t see a thing.”

“Have you been working on this scenery all evening?”

He sighed. “Mostly.”

“Then you must have seen something. Was there anything odd?”

“Everyone around here is odd.”

“Then tell me everything you saw during the intermission.”

“No use. No one even came close to the door but Mr. Durczek.”

“Were you here when the door was broken in?”

“Yeah.”

“Who entered the room first?”

“I’m not sure.” He frowned. “Maybe Mr. Durczek or the producer. Does it matter? No one could have smuggled her out past me I’d have seen. I was right there.”

Aurelia sucked in her cheeks ever so slightly, a gesture she made before springing a trap on some unwary soul. “Pray tell me how you came to have your attention so fixed upon Miss Harrington’s door?”

A scarlet flush swept up his neck. “I was taking my break and happened to have a good view.”

“Balderdash. The intermission is timed for a change of scenery. No stagehand would take a break at such a time.”

His adam’s apple bobbed. “I—“

“Be very careful what you say, Mr. O’Fallon.”

His shoulders slumped. “Sarah and I were going to marry before he came along.” He cast a venomous glare at the Viscount.

From one of the myriad corridors came the crash of something falling and a howl of protest. An instant later a fashionable, white-haired lady rounded the corner. Here was the type of woman Carroll must have had in mind when he installed the Queen of Hearts in Alice’s Wonderland. She marched up to the viscount. “Harold it’s time to go.”

For once he straightened nearly all the way up. “No, Mother. My fiancée has been abducted. I’m not going anywhere.”

Any response she might have made was cut off by the arrival of a workman, all but hauling a red-faced, balding man behind him. “There she is. That’s the one.” The workman pointed at the viscount’s mother.

The red-faced gentleman waved the workman off and took the woman’s hand in his, lifting it to his lips. “Lady Marchmont, it’s so kind of you to visit. How may I be of assistance?”

Mr. Durczek jerked his thumb toward the little balding fellow and whispered an explanation. “The producer.”

“Hello, Mr. Grundy.” Lady Marchmont removed her hand from the vicinity of his lips with the expression of one who has inadvertently touched a slug. “I don’t imagine a producer can help me a jot unless you can convince my son to remember his duty rather than chasing after chorus girls.”

“She’s not a chorus girl, Mother.”

O’Fallon, the jilted lover, furrowed his brow and looked Lady Marchmont up and down. “You were here for the show.”

She sniffed and glanced over at him. “Of course I was here. I learned of this ridiculous engagement today and came to see this... this woman perform.”

The ugly red tide returned to O’Fallon’s features. “No, I mean you were here. Backstage.”

“Don’t be silly.” She looked at each of the people in the gathering crowd as if waiting for someone to vouchsafe her denial.

Aurelia stepped toward her. “Others will have seen you, Lady Marchmont. The police will prove it easily.”

“And who might you be?”

“Aurelia Peale. I’m investigating this matter.”

The woman shot her a glance designed to melt a person into a quivering jelly. “You would be better employed finding yourself a husband.”

Aurelia tilted her head. “Possibly. But at the moment I’m employed in finding a kidnapper. You must see that it’s easier to explain your presence here among friends, than down at Scotland Yard.”

Lady Marchmont nearly rolled her eyes in an uncouth manner, but caught herself in time. “I came to talk to the wretched girl.”

“Miss Harington?”

“I thought she could be reasoned with.”

Aurelia crossed her arms. “You meant to offer her money if she would break off her engagement with your son.”

Lady Marchmont glanced at the viscount. “Yes. But once I got down here, I became lost. I never even saw the girl, before I heard she’d gone missing.”

“Mr. Grundy I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The fluting American voice made them all turn. A robust young woman with a glorious mane of tawny hair stood eyeing the producer. “I heard you’re thinking about canceling tomorrow’s show.”

“Yes, Miss Boxer. I’m afraid that without Sarah—”

“But what’s an understudy for if not to sing when the lead is… indisposed?”

He held his hands up. “Miss Boxer, until we find the reason for Miss Harrington’s disappearance, it could be dangerous for you to go on.”

The girl stepped closer and pushed a fleshy finger into his chest. “Sarah Harrington didn’t have a patch on my voice. I’ve told you that before. Well now’s my big chance and I’ve got a contract. So you just better rethink your idea of cancelling the show.” With a showy swirl of skirts Miss Boxer turned and marched away.

Aurelia turned to the viscount. “Miss Stadler and I will continue our investigations. Why don’t you go home? I know your mother will feel better for the companionship.”

“Are you sure? I—I could stay. I want to find Sarah.”

“That’s not necessary. I assure you that I’ll find Miss Harrington. And I don’t believe she’ll have been harmed.”

“Then she did run off, just as I supposed,” said Lady Marchmont.

“Pray, Madam do not put words in my mouth. I never suggested anything of the sort.” Aurelia turned her back to the woman and motioned for me to follow her.

She went all through the theatre, no detail too small to secure her attention. Every workman and chorus girl she found was interviewed. Most saw nothing of any interest whatsoever. A few confirmed that Miss Harrington had not been seen leaving her dressing room during the intermission.

At last, Aurelia declared our labors at an end. “Come along, Ilene. It’s past time we should be home and enjoying a cup of tea before bed. We’ll return tomorrow to unmask the culprit.”

***

The next morning Aurelia and I were breakfasting on kippers and toast when urgent banging sounded at the front door. I dropped my uneaten toast and we scrambled to stand at the top of the stairs. Our landlady opened the door and the stage manager, Mr. Durczek barreled into the hall.

He saw us and whipped off his hat. “Please. Miss Boxer has been hurt.”

It took but a moment to learn that the understudy had been practicing on the stage when one of the heavy sandbags had fallen and struck her. She was now in hospital.

“Let us get our things,” Aurelia said. A moment later we were clambering into the hackney Mr. Durczek had waiting.

When we arrived at the opera house we found Lady Marchmont, and her son the Viscount Lashley awaiting us, along with the stagehand, Patrick O’Fallon and Mr. Grundy, the producer.

“If you will all follow me, for purposes of demonstration I believe this meeting would best be conducted in Miss Harrington’s dressing room.”

It was a tight fit getting us all inside.

“Have you discovered how she was removed from here?” asked the viscount.

“No. And for a very simple reason. She wasn’t removed from here. She never entered.”

“Impossible,” sputtered Mr. Durczek. “I heard her.”

“You believed you heard her, but in fact, you heard this.” She gestured at the phonograph. With a twist of the handle she wound it and reset the arm.

Immediately a woman’s voice emerged. “I’ll be right there.”

A gasp went up from everyone, even me.

“But how did you know?” asked the viscount.

“Very simple. If it were impossible for Miss Harrington to have left the room, then she didn’t. Either she was still in the room, or she had never entered. A thorough search made it eminently clear that she was not in the room, therefore only the second option remained. At that point the question became how could someone make it sound as if she were in the room.”

Lady Marchmont leaned forward, interested in spite of herself. “How could that contraption have been started at the appropriate moment?”

Aurelia smiled. “I imagine the kidnapper put the arm in place beforehand then attached a weighted string to the handle. He left the key in the lock and balanced the weight on the end. When Mr. Durczek gave his usual hearty knock, the weight was dislodged and the crank given a sharp turn. It must have been someone with ample access to the entire theatre. Someone no one would question entering the diva’s room earlier in the performance.”

I shook my head. Once more she’d pulled an answer from the jaws of the impossible.

“But who’s responsible!” Patrick O’Fallon slapped his hat against his knee.

“Again it’s a matter of looking at the evidence as it is, and not as we should like it to be.”

Smiling like the proverbial Cheshire cat, Aurelia paced before us, hands clasped behind her back. “Mr. O’Fallon was the first to rouse suspicion. Avowals of love can upon occasion mask a darker emotion, particularly when the object of affection has spurned that love.”

“I didn’t have a thing to do—”

“I soon concluded the same, Mr. O’Fallon. You were quite adamant about not seeing anyone go in or out, whereas if you had been behind the disappearance it would have been in your interests to say you saw her leaving of her own will.”

O’Fallon nodded.

“Of course jealousy can affect more than the lower classes. There was the possibility that Viscount Lashley feared Sarah was experiencing a change of heart and determined to remove her from Mr. O’Fallon influence.”

“How dare you, Miss—”

Aurelia whirled to face Lady Marchmont. “I dare, because someone must. You were also seen backstage in suspicious circumstances. However, since you had just learned of the engagement there was little time to arrange elaborate schemes, nor were you familiar with the layout of the theatre. While it’s possible, the proposition is less likely. Besides it seems more keeping with your character that you’d try to buy cooperation before resorting to more desperate measures.

“The next most likely suspect was the understudy. She was intensely envious of Miss Harrington’s position and talent. And yet a simple accident or bout of food poisoning that prevented Miss Harrington from performing would have been easier to engineer, and much less likely to draw unwanted attention from the police. And now Miss Boxer herself has been injured.”

“But who does that leave?” I asked, unable to leash my curiosity longer.

Again that knowing smile. “Why the culprit of course, Miss Stadler. Someone who enjoys engineering complicated schemes.” She pinned the producer to the wall with her gaze. “Isn’t that correct, Mr. Grundy?”

“P-pardon me?” The little man’s eyes widened.

“I thought it odd you did not accompany Viscount Lashley to retain my services. A producer typically stands to lose a great deal if his show folds. And yet you made no move to secure your investment.”

“I have confidence in the fine officers of Scotland Yard,” he said stiffly.

“In addition, the kidnapper had to be familiar with the routines and practices backstage. And also required access. By all accounts you were there when this door was broken down, and most of the hands I talked to identified you as the first man in the room, giving you the opportunity to quickly remove the string and weight from your improvised device. A matter of only a second with your back to the wall, while everything around was confusion.”

“Absurd! Why should I want to ruin my own show?”

“An interesting question. Yesterday, Miss Boxer had to argue vehemently against closing down the show, even though doing so should mean a financial disaster for you. And now she is injured. I suspect it’s because you didn’t want the show to be a success. One of the oldest schemes in theatre is to raise more money than necessary to put on a show, and then ensure it fails, thus guaranteeing the investors won’t come clamoring for their money. But what’s a producer to do if he stages an unexpectedly popular show?”

The little man collapsed on to the couch, dropping his head into his hands. “If I had known it would be a success I could have made a mint.”

O’Fallon closed in on the hunched figure. “Where is she?”

“I didn’t hurt her, just kept her dosed with laudanum. She’s in the spare bedroom of my flat. I was going to release her without her ever knowing where she’d been kept. The show just had to close first.”

“Instead, the curtain is coming down on your plotting for good.” Aurelia adjusted her hat. “Come Ilene, I believe our work here is finished.”

Review-Face of Betrayal by Lis Wiehl with April Henry

2010-03-11T08:06:00.000-08:00

Katie Converse, a seventeen-year-old senate page is home on break when she disappears while walking her dog. Enter the Triple Threat Club. Allison Pierce is a federal prosecutor, Nicole Hedges is a special agent with the FBI, and Cassidy Shaw is a TV news reporter. These three friends are drawn to the case from the moment they hear of the disappearance. Each uses their distinct resources and point-of-view to pursue the case. Each has their own reasons for becoming so passionately involved in finding justice for this particular girl.

Face of Betrayal is fast-paced and well written. The chapters are short and entice you to keep reading just one more before you stop. I also enjoyed the information about the senate page program, since it was something I was not at all familiar with. The authors wrote about the protagonists’ jobs with a good deal of authority and I enjoyed ‘learning’ some of the behind the scenes details of those professions.

Some Christian readers may find some of the scenes to be a bit edgier than they’re used to. There is no graphic detail, but there is an ‘after the fact’ bedroom scene between an unmarried couple and also some scenes with one or more of the protagonists drinking.

I think the endorsement on the cover from Suspense Magazine made me expect a suspense, but this is a straight mystery because there is no personal danger to the protagonists because of their pursuit of this case, nor is there any sense of the ticking clock. I checked the back cover and Thomas Nelson did classify the book as a mystery so it was my own fault for simply assuming it was a suspense. So a word to the wise, don’t assume, because we all know what that makes out of ‘u’ and me.

Despite the good pacing and craft, I did have a few issues with the story itself. I found three or four flaws in logic that made me roll my eyes a bit. I would share, but I don’t want to post a spoiler. Secondly a couple of the red herrings were so fishy that I could smell them a mile off. It was like watching an episode of CSI or some other crime show. You know without a doubt that the suspect in question isn’t the culprit because there’s too much airtime left to fill. Fewer of those would have left more room to develop the characters more fully.

My biggest quibble with the story was that the solution was based on a coincidence. It’s a pet peeve with me, but I want the heroes and heroines in the books I read to employ actual skill in solving the case. The ending also involves a leap of faith that I wasn’t quite able to complete. The authors managed to also hit on my other pet peeve in that the culprit who has managed to get away with murder for weeks now, confesses to the crime before they’ve even been accused. The entire wrap-up was, in my opinion, rushed and contrived.

Overall I found Face of Betrayal to be okay. A different ending would have probably made it a good or maybe even a great read for me. But as always, your mileage may vary.

I received a copy of this book from the publisher for the purpose of review.

The Pastor's Wife by Jennifer AlLee

2010-01-31T03:00:00.000-08:00

There are a few friendships in life that supersede distance and difficulties. I've been blessed with one of those forever friends in Jen AlLee. We met at the ACFW conference in Dallas. It was the first time either of us had been at a big writer's conference like that. For introverts, conferences are like volunteering to put your finger in a light socket. Not once, but over and over again. Nerve wracking! I was longing to sneak away to my room where it was quiet and I didn't have to be 'on'. I had one problem, I'd volunteered to help in the conference bookstore. Sigh. I made my way down there, learned what needed to be done.

It was a quiet night. Most everyone already knew other people and were out hanging with their friends. Or at least that's what it felt like. Then I got to talking with the woman sharing bookstore duty with me. Her day had been way worse than mine. But she had a quirky sense of humor and gamely listened as I rambled on about the story I was pitching. We just clicked and found ourselves hightailing to a nearby food court for supper. We chatted long after the McDonald's had closed.

God orchestrated that meeting between Jen AlLee and I. She is my best friend even though we live time zones apart. The more I get to know this funny, wise, amazing woman, the more I know how blessed I am to have her in my life, if only so I can listen to her stories. And now I get the great privilege of introducing her next book to you.

Blurb:
Maura Sullivan never intended to set foot in Granger, Ohio, again. But when circumstances force her to return, she must face all the disappointments she tried so hard to leave behind: a husband who ignored her, a congregation she couldn’t please, and a God who took away everything she loved.

Nick Shepherd had put the past behind him. At least he thought he had, until the day his estranged wife walked back into town. Intending only to help Maura through her crisis of faith, Nick finds his feelings for her never died. Now, he must face the mistakes he made and find a way to give and receive forgiveness.

As God works in both their lives, Nick and Maura believe they can repair their broken relationship and reunite as man and wife. But Maura has something to tell Nick before they can move forward. It’s what ultimately drove her to leave six years earlier, and the one thing that can destroy the fragile trust they’ve begun to rebuild.

I feel like a proud Auntie about this book. I in no way can claim credit for the product, but I'm as happy as if I could. Believe me, this book is one you will want to get. The characters are so relatable and the conflict so universal. We have all felt hemmed in by other people's expectations at times.

You can order The Pastor's Wife through Amazon, Cokesbury, and Christianbook.com or at a brick and mortar bookstores near you.

Queen Elizabeth's Fantasy

2010-01-13T04:03:00.000-08:00

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots was at odds with her Tudor family from the day of her birth. Proclaimed queen of Scotland when she was less than a year old, she also had a strong claim to the English throne. Her mother was Henry the Eight’s sister. When first Edward, and then Mary Tudor died, the English throne devolved to Elizabeth, but her mother’s marriage to Henry had already been annulled and her legitimacy denied by the English Parliament. At the end of his life, Henry had tried to fix the problem by unequivocally stating the line of succession in his will, but that patch was too little too late.

Thus the stage was set for a battle of wills between these first cousins, both of whom were reigning queens. Unfortunately for Mary, Elizabeth had the upper hand. England at the time was more prosperous and more populous. It was strong militarily and had the advantage of a centralized government that made its sovereign less dependent on her conniving Lords.

Mary, on the other hand, was consistently undermined by the Lairds and even faced down open rebellion more than once. It was clan politics and petty power struggles that led to her beheading, more than anything else. It also enabled Elizabeth to establish her preeminence.

One of the major sanctions that Elizabeth imposed upon learning that it was Mary’s intention to marry again, was a demand that she have a say in the selection of husband. And this is where Elizabeth’s world began to dissolve into fantasy. When asked whom she had in mind, she actually suggested that Mary marry Robert Dudley. Elizabeth’s favorite courtier, and a man most assume to have been her lover. The gossip was as rife then as it is today, and Mary was more than offended at the suggestion, but for political reasons acted as if the match might work.

But Elizabeth’s delusions seemed to know no bounds. It seems she regretted her suggestion, but could hardly tell Mary not to marry Dudley when it had been her idea in the first place. Her solution? She sent a letter to Mary, with the proposal that, once married she and Dudley should move to England and live with Elizabeth! Elizabeth would, of course, support them.

Can you imagine such a proposal made to a reigning monarch? Not only was she supposed to leave the governing of her country to others, in order to mooch around Elizabeth’s court, but she was also, apparently supposed to share her husband with her first cousin. Yikes! I guess no one ever accused Elizabeth of not being a gutsy broad.

Needless to say, this bit of fantasy on Elizabeth’s part was not fulfilled. Mary went on to marry an Englishman with a claim to the English succession that nearly matched her own. An alliance that produced an heir, but eventually led to her downfall.

Did you hear about the Jacksons?

2010-01-05T04:40:00.000-08:00

When General Andrew Jackson, the hero of New Orleans married his wife, Rachel she was still married to her first husband, Lewis Robards. The couple always claimed that Robards told them he had submitted the divorce papers. He, of course, denied it.

Jackson remarried Rachel in 1794, but the scandal resurfaced decades later when he ran for president in 1824. Jackson still managed to win the popular vote and even gained the most electoral college votes, but without a clear majority it fell to the House of Representatives to name the new president. After only one round of voting, John Quincy Adams was named the sixth president of the United States.

Four years later, the same ugly stories once more reared their heads. It is said that throughout his life Andrew Jackson fought thirteen duels. Many of them over his wife’s honor. This time, however, Jackson had the satisfaction of soundly thrashing Adams in the race for the presidency. Unfortunately, just two weeks after the results were known, and before her husband took office, Rachel Jackson died. Andrew Jackson blamed the scandal mongering and never forgave John Quincy Adams or his party.

Why is it that we tend to think of history as decorous and well-mannered? I guess politics has always been an ugly business.

A Christmas Carol

2009-12-21T20:39:00.000-08:00

Around Christmas it seems like every other movie is a remake of Charles Dickens’s The Christmas Carol. He struck story gold when he penned that story and even if he’d never written A Tale of Two Cities or Oliver Twist he’d have gone down as a master storyteller simply because of this one tale.

Begun in October of 1843, Dickens completed the story in just six weeks. He published it in December of the same year, and though he didn’t make nearly as much money off the royalties of that first printing as he wanted, it was still an immediate success. For once popular and literary tastes converged.

In a way that newborn novella caused a revolution. The story is credited with returning joy to a holiday that had become increasingly muted, even somber. The not-so-veiled social commentary on the industrialists of the day was said to hit like a sledgehammer. And at least one newspaper credited the tale with a significant increase in giving to the poor.

For all the cutting edge power that the story had in its day, the story has now been reduced to cliché. When everyone from Hallmark to Disney, to HBO has copied the idea in every conceivable medium it would be all but impossible for the story not to be trite.

Is there any hope that we could still suck some meaning from the marrow of this story?

The message may not be as radical as it once was, but I do think that some of the lessons are evergreen. Have we lived, so that a visit from the ghosts of Christmas past, present or future would hold no terror for us? Do we revel in ‘stuff’ or in people? Would our passing make a difference to someone?

Does our attitude reflect miserly Scrooge, sorrowful Marley, compassionate Bob Cratchit or even the cheerful, forgiving nephew.

Do you keep Christmas in your heart? What does that even mean?

To me, that means recalling the birth of Christ. That the great God, creator of the universe who holds the seas in the palm of his hand, would deign to robe himself in flesh and descend to earth as a newborn, not a powerful warrior king, but an impoverished infant, reliant on the care of human parents to meet his every need. That boggles my mind.

Why would he do that? It all comes back to who he is. He is love. It is his essence. And so it is also the essence of Christmas. It is every virtue, from humility to generosity, from forgiveness to thankfulness. Keeping that in our heart changes us, just as it changed Scrooge. I need Christmas. I need that joyful reminder of all that God wants for us. Of his plan and action in our lives.

Two questions to you, what does it mean to you to keep Christmas in your heart? And, can you think of any name better than Fezziwig?

In the immortal words of Tiny Tim. “God Bless us every one.”

Betsy Bonaparte

2009-12-14T19:11:00.000-08:00

Did you know that Napoleon Bonaparte had American relations? It’s true.

In 1803 Napoleon’s younger brother, Jerome was a naval officer fighting in the Caribbean. To escape captured by the English he retreated to America, and subsequently went to Maryland to visit a friend. There he met Miss Elizabeth Patterson, the daughter of the wealthiest man in Maryland. After a whirlwind two month courtship, he asked for her hand in marriage. Neither side of the family was enthusiastic about the arrangement, but Elizabeth, known as Betsy, did manage to obtain her parents’ permission. Napoleon Bonaparte wasn’t so accommodating, he had plans for his brother. The wedding went ahead anyway.

The couple were married on Christmas Eve 1803 by the Archbishop of Baltimore and immediately set out to take America by storm. Betsy’s beauty was legendary and she had no problem with flaunting it by wearing fashions that raised many an eyebrow. At one point she appeared in Washington, essentially nude. The white muslin gown she wore had been dampened down until it clung to every… um… feature and she had no other layers on beneath it. An ensemble that scandalized the wives of Washington, but didn’t seem to trouble their husbands at all.

At the news of the wedding Napoleon immediately ordered his brother home. Jerome and Betsy managed to ignore Napoleon’s peremptory summons for a while. As they traveled south to New Orleans, but the time came that they had to respond.

A now pregnant Betsy set sail with her husband, hoping to arrive in time for Napoleon’s coronation. When they came within sight of the coast in March of 1805, their ship was boarded and Jerome was taken off. She never saw him again.

Betsy was denied entrance into France, and Napoleon exerted his influence to ensure that other ports were closed to her as well. She finally found safe harbor in England and gave birth to a son, Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte, in July of 1805.

Jerome tried to reason with his brother, but Napoleon would not listen and declared the marriage null. He then demanded that Jerome marry a German princess Catharina of Württemburg. Jerome caved to the pressure and married the German, without having his marriage to Betsy legally dissolved.

Napoleon sent a letter to Betsy requesting that she stop using the Bonaparte name, and offering her a small stipend if she would drop her claims, and those of her son on Jerome. She promptly replied that she had come by the name honorably and had no intention of dropping it nor any other right or honor which she was due.

In London, Betsy became the belle of the ball. Every Englishman wanted to meet the woman who so thoroughly got Napoleon’s goat. She returned to Maryland with her young son, but after the Battle of Waterloo she returned to Europe and was feted across the continent for her beauty and wit. She finally secured a divorce from Jerome in 1815 by a special act of the Maryland Legislature.

Wrap-up

2009-12-02T05:23:00.000-08:00

I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read Anne's adventures. I've had a fantastic time writing her story (even when you all didn't make it easy on me!) Thanks for being a part of our adventures!

NOW, I'd really love to get some feedback from you all. Did you like the format? The story?

What can I do better or at least differently?

Would you like to see another story featuring Anne? Something totally different? SHould I drop the whole story idea and move on to something else?

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 45

2009-11-23T19:04:00.000-08:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

A flush tormented her cheeks, but Anne notched her chin up. Maybe Erik wouldn’t notice. Jilly would just up and ask him out to dinner. But then, Jilly, had no problem flouting convention. Although… She had just helped bust up a communist conspiracy. That was hardly conventional. She would do it. She’d just open her mouth and.

Anne opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her gullet like fish bones.

Erik waited politely for her to speak. Instead, she shook her head and feigned a cough.

“You okay?”

She nodded weakly. “Fine. Just tired. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He snatched his hat from the table and jumped to his feet. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry, I should’ve remembered.”

Anne stood as well, ushering him to the door. Soon, soon, soon, she would go hide her head under the covers and never come out again.

Erik stopped at the door and turned back to her. He glanced down at his hands, which revolved his hat in endless circles. She saw his grip tighten and then he slapped the hat on his head. In two steps he had her in his arms.

Anne gasped.

His eyes seared her, burning away her embarrassment and her hesitation. He lowered his head. The touch of his lips against hers sent a spiral of sweetness into her heart that banished the terror and grief of the last week. There was nothing beyond this moment. This man.

His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, his palms cupping her cheeks. Time compressed and then lengthened. Pulled like taffy by the emotion surging between them.

At last he pulled away a few inches. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Anne nodded. A dopey smile played at her lips, but she didn’t care. “Mm hmm.” Her brain had turned to mush. There was no chance of putting together a coherent response.

“And maybe the day after that?”

“Mm hmm.”

“And the one after that?”

Anne tore her gaze from dreamy contemplation of his Adam’s Apple to his eyes. “Okay.”

He smiled and his eyes were as bright as Christmas lights. “Good. I have a feeling that I’m going to want to see you every chance I can get.”

His lips caressed her temple. “Good night.” In an instant he was gone.

Fingers raised to her lips, Anne leaned against her brand new door. It wasn’t the end after all. Just the beginning of something new.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 44

2009-11-17T04:38:00.000-08:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

“Absolutely.” Anne perked up a bit. “Just let me brew some coffee first.”

Erik glanced over at her and grinned. “If anyone deserves some rest, it’s you.”

“I warn you once the tale is told I intend to sleep for at least a week.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know that one of the fellas rousted your super and a carpenter and your door is fixed.”

Anne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Would you believe I completely forgot about the break-in?” She shook her head at herself.

“Well you’ve had other things on your mind.”

“Oh, just Communists and counterfeiters. I can’t imagine how that would have been enough to make me forget that my apartment was ransacked. I’ll be glad to go back to just writing about crooks rather than dealing with them in real life.”

Erik pulled into a prize parking spot and pulled the keys from the ignition, but didn’t climb out right away. He leaned toward her ever so slightly, turning his torso so that he faced her. “If it’s any consolation. I think you’re a way better heroine than Lacey Carew.” He turned away abruptly, and flung open his door.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, arcing down to a place in the middle of her chest and setting it aglow too. An irresistible grin lifted the corners of her mouth. Suddenly she didn’t feel nearly so sleepy.

He swung open the doo for her with a flourish and offered his arm. She accepted his assistance from the car, and didn’t pull away after she’d emerged.

Perhaps she’d been too forward. She sought frantically for something to fill the air between them. Something nonchalant. Breezy. Fun. Nothing came to mind. “So what did Armstrong and you boss tell you?”

He ushered her inside their apartment building. “I thought your curiosity might be stronger than your need for caffeine.” His gaze held a mixture of pride and humor. “You were right. They were communists. And the scheme was pretty much what we thought. They meant to take the plates that Tom made and set up a press in major cities all over the country. With counterfeits that good, and coming from every angle, we’d have been at a loss. Even if we shut down one operation, it wouldn’t have led to another, because the individuals in each cell were kept separate from one another and had no information about the others.”

Anne fumbled for her keys, but Erik handed her a different set. “New door.”

The only thing to do was laugh at herself. He might as well know up front what a goof she was. “That coffee won’t come a minute too soon.”

Anne led the way to the kitchen, flicking on the lights but ignoring the awful mess in the living room. She found the percolator unscathed but had to rummage before she found the coffee in the midst of pile of jumbled boxes and cans that had been flung on the floor.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind it black.”

“The blacker the better.”

“So why did they kill Carol, and what was it about those papers that made them so desperate to get them back?”

“Well that was part of what made this operation such a threat. Seems they have a guy inside the national mint. He figured out a way to smuggle out the special paper that’s used for real currency.”

“Wow, so the fakes would have been almost impossible to tell from the real thing.”

Erik nodded. “Exactly. The panic would deepen as word of spread and no one could be sure whether the money they had in their pocket was the real thing or some forgery. As the concern spread, the dollar would be devalued and, worst case scenario, the markets would crash and spawn a countrywide economic collapse.”

“Then the papers Carol gave me were the real deal from the mint. That was why they were so desperate to get them back. If anyone got a hold of them it might mean the discovery of their inside man.”

“Right again. I was scheduled to meet with Carol on the day she was killed. Her call came in while my boss, Mercer, was at my desk. I just transferred from California, so I’m the low man on the totem pole here, and I get all of the loons. He told me to ignore it. That it was an obvious crank. I was going to, but then I thought it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. She sounded pretty scared and I figured that if I could catch a counterfeiting ring I’d start establishing myself here. So I called her back and set up a meet.

“I played the cards close to my chest since Merecer told me to ignore it in the first place. Turns out to have been a good thing that he didn’t know what I was up to, or he’d have squashed the investigation and us with it. In fact, he tried. When he learned about the support I’d drawn for the operation tonight, he pulled our backup. That was why all the agents disappeared on us.”

Anne poured him a steaming mug of coffee and another for herself. The rich aroma filled the kitchen making his words feel foreign, not a part of the real world at all. “I can hardly believe it’s over.”

“Mostly over. We’ll need you to testify.”

Anne set her coffee down with a plunk. “Wait. If your investigation was under the table, how did you get the money to take the apartment downstairs?”

“I was there that day. The day Carol was killed. We were supposed to meet at a café near the train station. When I saw you hovering nearby after the crash, I thought maybe you were a part of the gang so I followed you home.” He shrugged, looking sheepishly into his coffee mug. “The apartment downstairs was for rent, and I needed a place anyway, so I leased it. I thought I could better keep an eye on you.”

Anne shook her head and took a hefty swig from her mug. “So that day when you came up asking for tools was what? A reconnaissance mission?”

“Sort of.” His voice came out in a croak.

“You were looking through my stuff weren’t you? I distinctly remember thinking things had been moved around.”

He spread his hands. “It didn’t take long to mark you off my suspects list.”

Anne’s heart had pooled somewhere around her ankle socks. So the only list she’d ever been on was his suspect list. Ergh! It was all so humiliating.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 43

2009-11-09T19:13:00.000-08:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne glanced at the figure prone on the floor. She smoothed her palms against her skirt. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I think I’d prefer to come with you.”

The semi darkness of the large office seemed to close in around them.

Erik seemed to notice her nervousness. He reached over to turn on the nearest desk lamp. She summoned a shaky smile. Marooned in the circle of light her gaze caught on his.

“Thank you. You saved my life.” He held a hand out to her and pulled her to her feet.

“Then I guess we’re even.” They stood toe to toe. Anne’s heart revved up like it was ready to drag race. She ought to have stepped back, but she was on an eye level with his lips. They quirked up at the corners, looking both hard and soft at the same time. His Adam’s apple bob, and Anne swallowed hard too. Her eyelids fluttered close and she felt warm breath brush her cheek.

At their feet, Erik’s boss groaned and Anne jerked back. “Maybe we better get some—”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Yeah. Let’s get this put to bed.”

Anne sucked in a horrified breath. He flushed a painful sunburn red. “I meant, mean—come on. They’ll have some coffee going down there and I need some.”

The night devolved into a blur of bland faced men in dress shirts and dark ties, burnt coffee, and incessant questions. As another pair of nameless minions of justice departed Anne rested her head against her outstretched arms. If she could just rest her eyes for a few minutes.

“Anne?” A warm hand rested on her shoulder.

She jerked upright. “Huh? What?”

“Hey, lets get you home,” Erik said.

Anne covered her mouth to hide an enormous yawn. “Oh, okay.”

Erik led her out to the car and held open the door for her. She slid in and laid her head back against the seat. Another yawn wrenched her jaws apart. If she could just go to bed she’d never get up again.

The car dipped to the left as Erik slid behind the wheel. “You want to know what we learned?”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 42

2009-11-02T18:36:00.000-08:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne’s hand felt as if it had been soldered to the doorknob. Should she tear down the hall in search of help or stay and try to help Erik?

Dear Lord, help me. Help me!

“I thought so.” Erik’s voice held no hint of fear. “It had to be you. You pulled the other agents off the stakeout. I suppose it’s a good thing I played my cards close to the vest until the last minute or you’d have sabotaged the entire operation. Too late now.”

What was he thinking? Surely antagonizing the man with the gun wasn’t the wisest option. Anne finally remembered to breathe and eased the door closed. If she left now, she might not be able to return in time.

“Your problem, Carter is that you’re cocky. You didn’t have the faintest suspicion before a couple minutes ago. And even if you did you waved them away.” The tone carried with it the hint of a sneer.

“Well we both know that you’re not going to get away with it. Armstrong will spill his guts and then you’re done. Shooting me will only make matters worse.”

“But it’ll be so much fun.”

Anne slipped out of her shoes so that she could move silently but also quickly. Half-crouching she crept along the outer wall of the room. She wasn’t entirely certain where he was and it would be better to come up behind him rather than ruin the element of surprise by approaching too obliquely. Now to find something heavy.

“You can’t hate me that much.”

“No. You needn’t take it personally. I just don’t want anyone gumming up the works for me. I’ve got a plane waiting to whisk me to a cushy position in Moscow. No more of the sanctimonious swill I’ve been drowning in for years. It’ll be a positive relief.”

“So why not just go? Why are you still hanging around the office?”

“Oh, I’ve got a job or two to do. Once your witness gets back I’ll kill you both, then I’ll head on down to the interrogation rooms and send the agents home. They’ll actually be grateful for the break.” His tinny laugh sounded more like a cackle. “Then Armstrong and I will collect the fake plates and the juiciest files from this office. Just a little something to ensure a warm welcome in our new homeland. They may give us a parade right through Red Square.”

“More likely a bullet to eat,” Erik said.

“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why don’t you just kill me now?”

“I was waiting for your girlfriend to get back. I’d hate to scare her off. But you’ve tempted me once too many times.”

Anne was only a few feet behind the man as he raised his gun.

“Hey! You looking for me.”

He turned to look at her and she launched the heavy typewriter she’d raised above her head. The muzzle of the gun flashed and Anne’s ears rang with noise of a shot. The typewriter struck his temple eliciting a grunt of pain. He staggered and slumped the floor, the gun clattering free of his grip.

Erik was on him in an instant. He snatched up the receiver of a nearby telephone and used the receiver to tie his boss’s hands behind his backs.

The room whirled and swirled as if someone had tossed them all into an enormous blender. Anne sank to floor. She dropped her head to her knees. So tired. So very, very tired. The temptation to curl up on the floor and go to sleep was nearly overwhelming.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Hey, you okay?” Erik’s voice was as warm and sweet as a biscuit dripping with honey.

Her head felt as if it were a granite boulder but she managed to raise it and meet his eyes. “I’m okay.”

“I’m going to go get some help from the guys downstairs. Will you be okay here or do you want to come?”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 41

2009-10-27T04:52:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne glanced back toward the door. Still some twenty-five or thirty feet to go. She edged backwards seeking more cover, more anything between her and that voice.

“So where is she?” Faux bonhomie rang in his voice, the forced joviality booming and out of place in the other wise silent office.

Erik stopped motioning for her to come forward. His shoulders stiffening into rigid, alert lines. “She had to step out to the ladies’ room. Time to remove the wire so we can get the tape. Mr. Anderson will be going behind bars for a good long while.”

“I didn’t authorize a wire.” The brash amiability slipped a little.

Erik surreptitiously waved her away now. Anne nodded though he couldn’t see her and continued to back away towards the door. Thank heavens she’d worn loafers. The tap of high heels would have given her away for sure.

“Your policy has always been to use the best equipment for a job. Anyway, no harm, no foul. It wasn’t injured and we’ll have it back in a few minutes.” Erik’s voice was casual, holding no hint of the tension that seemed to radiate off the back of his stiff neck.

Twelve more feet.

“So you caught Anderson?”

“Yep.” Despite the continued insouciance of his tone, Erik squared off, spreading his stance oh so slightly, torso forward as if bracing for an attack. “This thing was much bigger than I dreamed too. I believe the counterfeiting was part of a larger communist plot to destabilize the economy.”

“Hoo boy.” An avuncular chuckle rippled through the quiet office. “You sure you’re not getting paranoid? That sort of story, well, it’s not going to look good to the powers that be.”

“I disagree.” Erik’s quiet response had the directness of a challenge. It hovered in the air between them.

Anne’s fingers brushed the cold steel of the doorframe and she groped for the knob.

“How long do you think it’ll be before the girl gets back?”

Erik jerked his head her direction. “Why don’t I go check on her?”

“No, no. You just stay here with me. I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”

“I ought to go check that Anderson has arrived.”

“Nah. It can wait. I want to hear more about this hair-brained communist theory of yours.”

Anne twisted the knob slowly, so slowly. She couldn’t make a sound.

Erik’s voice had grown impatient. “It may be even worse than that. I believe there is a traitor in this office.”

Whispering a prayer that the door wouldn’t squeak, Anne eased it open.

“You don’t say.” The wry tone made her shiver in a way that angry never could have.

She glanced back just in time to see Erik make a move for his weapon.

“Nope. Don’t even try it. Hands up. I’ve got you covered, and don’t think for a minute that I won’t shoot you.”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 40

2009-10-19T18:10:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne tipped back in her chair. The voice quieted even more, she couldn’t make out what was said. She turned her head toward the darkened office. Strained to hear. Further. Just a little further.

“They’re gone!”

Anne windmilled wildly her hand striking and then catching hold of the edge of the desk. Panting a little, she returned the chair legs to the ground where they belonged.

Erik appeared from around a row of tall filing cabinets. His scowl was fierce enough to turn someone into stone. Dear heavens, she hoped he never had cause to look at her like that.

“What?” She asked.

“Carol’s papers are gone. I put them in the office safe this afternoon, but they’re gone.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you what it means. It means that there’s a dirty rat in this office. Someone’s in cahoots with Armstrong, maybe even pulling his strings.” He sank into his desk chair, hands rubbing at his face as if he could scrub away the suspicion from his mind.

Anne grabbed his hand and looked directly into his eyes. She lowered her voice. “Where are the other men with Armstrong?”

“The floor below this one. We have a small holding cell there, at least until the FBI comes for him.”

Casually as she could, Anne stood. She didn’t let go of his hand, tightening her grip until his brows furrowed. “Why don’t you show me where the powder room is so that I can return your equipment.”

They turned toward the main door.

“What’s going on?” he hissed from one side of his mouth.

“There’s someone in that office behind us. I heard him talking on the phone.” She pulled him faster as they approached the door, a determined little tugboat towing a battle cruiser.

Suddenly his hand was gone, and she staggered forward alone, his voice propelling her now. “Go on and get out of here. Get downstairs and send some of the fellows up to me.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see him reaching to grip the gun in his shoulder holster.

“Ah, ah, ah. Let’s not jump the proverbial gun, shall we Special Agent Carter.”

Erik’s shoulders relaxed and his hand fell away from his weapon. “Hey, Boss. You had me going there for a minute. You don’t happen to have the documents I stowed earlier today do you.”

Erik waved Anne forward with an it’s-all-right gesture, but she remained rooted to where she was. Something wasn’t right. That was the same voice she’d heard in the darkened office. And why wasn’t the man showing himself? Or maybe it was just the crazy conglomeration of filing and shelves and desks that hid him, not some sinister intent.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 39

2009-10-12T19:37:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Exhaustion lured Anne like the Pied Piper tempting her to home and bed. But she had the tapes, and she’d heard Armstrong’s confession. Erik would do his best, but what if, in the absence of her statement, someone decided to let Rick go?

No. She couldn’t risk it. Not if there was even one thing left for her to do. She removed Erik’s jacket from around her shoulders and held it out to him. “Thanks. I’d like to go with you and give my statement tonight. While it’s all still fresh in my mind.”

“But you look ready to fall over.”

She didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, she placed her hand on his arm. “Please. I’d feel much better.”

His gaze caught hers and held it for a long moment. The warmth she found there set her heart fluttering faster. A gentle smile twitched his lips up. “I can’t ever seem to talk sense in to you. All right, come on.” He draped an arm over her shoulder and steered her from the station.

The motion of the car soothed her and she allowed her head to rest against the seat. She awoke to the sound of Erik’s voice, and the touch of his hand on her arm.

“Sorry.” Sheepishly she covered a yawn.

“No need.” His smile sent a caramel sweet spiral through her belly.

She slid toward him and he helped her from the car. The chilly night air seemed less… chilly in his presence. He had a sort of electric personality that exuded verve. He was capable of lighting up any room he entered if he wanted to.

He led her inside and up several flights of stairs. The door he opened revealed a jumble of desks shoved together amidst filing cabinets and stacks of paper and typewriters.

“This is my desk.” He motioned for her to have a seat in the flimsy little chair beside his desk. “Wait here a minute and I’ll go grab some first aid supplies for your legs and hands.”

Anne nodded. She’d almost forgotten. The hurts had melded into a single symphony of throbbing aches so that she could hardly tell one from the other anymore. Erik disappeared into the maze of office furniture.

She sat upright but a moment later her eyes started to drift closed again. Her head bobbed forward and she jerked upright.

“No. I told you I’ll take care of it. But it ain’t gonna be all neat and tidy.” The gruff voice came from behind a half closed office door. No light escaped with the noise and Anne sat up straighter. Why would someone be making a call from a darkened room?

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 38

2009-10-05T18:36:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne threw her head back, hoping to knock him in the face, but Rick wasn’t having any of it this time. His free hand tangled in her hair and pulled her head back even further.

“Nice try, Sweetpea.” A rough shove and she tumbled onto the tracks below.

Shins and palms bruised and bleeding, Anne scrambled to her feet. She had to get off the track. A quick glance up revealed Rick standing above her.

Help me, Jesus! She darted away from his looming shadow. The train was close enough now that she could feel its rumble in the tracks. Its horn blared. She opened her mouth and let out the loudest scream she could. Flinging herself at the wall she jumped trying to gain some purchase, some grip that would enable to haul herself clear of the tracks.

The train rumbled closer. A bellowing, blinding blur of light and steel.

And then a head poked over the edge of the platform. Strong hands gripped hers, and as her feet scrabbled against the wall, dragged her to safety.

The train surged by, slowing to a stop a hundred yards from where Anne sat shaking and swallowing her tears. Erik sat on the ground with her, enveloping her in his arms, and in the soothing comfort of murmured words.

He shrugged and shifted, and a moment later placed his suit coat around her shoulders. Still she couldn’t see to stop trembling. Her head felt too heavy for her body, and she actually considered stretching out on the hard platform and going to sleep.

It couldn’t be though. Their business wasn’t finished.

When she at last spoke, the words came out sounding very small and distant. “Where’s Armstrong?”

Erik pulled away enough that he could look into her face. “It’s all right. We got him. I called in some favors and some of the guys arrived just in time to help nab him before he got away.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital? Your legs look pretty torn up.”

His comment brought into focus the throbbing in her shins. Anne straightened them out to find her stockings shredded and her shins sporting enormous twin bruises, amidst myriad cuts and abrasions.

The mere thought of a hospital made her feel a hundred years old, though. “I can take care of it myself, they just need some ointment and bandages.”

Erik stood and held out his hands to her. “Let me at least help you up.”

She groaned. “That, I will let you do. I think I’m going to be sore for a month.” She stood swaying for a moment, before taking a tentative step away from the edge of the platform. “So what will happen to Rick?”

“I’ll take him to our office and then begin interrogations.”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 37

2009-09-29T04:53:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne feigned surprise. “Oh, you hadn’t figured that out yet? I figured out that you’re part of a plot to destabilize the American economy. And that you killed Carol to keep her from going to the secret service.”

He jerked her closer. “Is that what Tom told you?”

She winced and drew in a breath. Was he trying to rip her arm out of socket? And where was Erik anyway? “No, I figured it out myself.”

“Well aren’t you smart. Too bad it’s going to get you killed.”

“So you admit it? All of it?”

“I suppose so.” His emphasized his nasty tone with another twist on her arm. “Not that you’re going to live to tell anyone about it.”

The edges of her vision were turning fuzzy. Her lungs seemed to have decided to hunker down like a bomb shelter and refused to let air in or out. She had to hang on just a little longer. “What are you going to do to Tom?”

“Same thing I’m going to do to you.”

“But don’t you need him to complete the plates?”

“You just know too much don’t you?”

A pair of men turned the corner chatting desultorily they walked to the edge of the platform to wait for the next train. Rick prodded her ribs with the barrel of his gun. The look he shot like a laser in her direction held no equivocation. If she called for help, he’d kill her, and probably those men as well.

“I told you I know. And I told the secret service too.”

“Well then, I guess they won’t need your testimony.” He dragged her toward the tracks.

A faint grumble came from the mouth of the tunnel as if it harbored a dragon. A dragon that was awaiting its annual virgin sacrifice from the villagers. She tried to retract the image. Her mother had been right. Anne had a morbid imagination.

“Where are you taking me?”

“No where, sweetheart. This is the end of the line for you.”

A pair of glowing eyes appeared in the cave. Tunnel. It was a tunnel and there was no ravening beast inside. It was just a train.

No way she was going to let herself be fed to the monster of Armstrong’s ambition. She just had to figure out what to do.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 36

2009-09-22T04:53:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne’s shoes pounded out a big band rhythm as she darted after Armstrong. They echoed in the sparsely populated station. She tossed a look over her shoulder. Where had Erik gotten to? How could such a tall fellow disappear completely?

The man redoubled his already brisk pace. He turned around a corner and out of sight. Again, Anne glanced around. Where was a policeman when you needed one?

Good grief. Did she have to do everything? No way was she going to get close enough for Armstrong to catch her again. She would hang back and just try to observe from a distance, so that he didn’t escape. She edged to the corner and cautiously peered around.

A hard hand clamped over her mouth. Fingers dug into her cheeks. She tried to pull back but it was useless. He had a grip on her arm now. Inexorable as the tide he dragged her forward.

His voice rasped against her ear. “Did you really think your little double cross was going to work?” His snort provoked a shiver. “If I ever get to the point where an amateur gumshoe, who’s barely out of training pants, can put one over on me, it’ll be time to hang it up.”

His hand covered both her mouth and nose, and again she tried to pull away. She needed air. Her lungs shouted at her. Nothing. No air. She was going to pass out. Jesus.

Her knees sagged and he pulled his hand away slightly. The trickle of stale air was as refreshing as a glass of cold lemonade on a summer afternoon. He must have spotted her somehow and decided to trap her. Dear Lord, she needed help to get out of this one.

He released her arm. “I’ve got a gun. If you yell I’ll plug you. Now, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. Where are the papers?” He moved his hand to her throat.

Anne massaged her cheeks.

He nudged her with the barrel of his ugly little gun. “Come on.”

She shook her head. “I told you the truth the first time. I gave them to the secret service.” She might as well go for broke. “They have agents everywhere. You can’t—”

“Shut up.” He prodded her harder. “I’d have known if you turned them in. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’m going to shoot you and throw your scrawny little corpse on the tracks.”

His eyes were wide, a thin rim of white showing all the way around. Anne drew in another breath. Whoever stayed cool would win this one. She resisted the urge to lick her lips. They’d win, or they’d get shot. At the moment it was a bit of a toss up.

“I’m telling you the truth. I gave the papers to Agent Erik Carter this afternoon. He took them to his superiors and they arranged for Tom and I to come back and get you to confess your involvement in the counterfeiting plan.”

“Tom.” The single word was so loaded with loathing that it carried the weight of an emotional atom bomb.

Bon Voyage to me!

2009-09-15T06:21:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gent,

I am on my way to Sunny Denver, CO. The annual ACFW conference is gearing up and I am abundantly blessed to be a part of it. If you have any desire to write yourself I highly recommend ACFW as a place to learn craft. To be brutally honest, when I first started writing I turned my nose up at how-to books because I thought that writing was a talent from God. Either you had it or you didn't. Those books were for wannabes who would never break in.

Yeah.

God laughed at my presumption and I have since repented of my judginess. Writing is an art, a craft and a trade and to do it well you must learn and practice just as with any other art or craft or trade.

I promise to be back next week with more of Anne's adventures, and I hope to be a better author because of what I learn this week in Denver.

BTW, we're almost to the end of Girl Sleuth, I think. I have a few ideas of what I'd like to tackle next, anyone else want to offer suggestions? What would you like this blog to be?

Huge Book Signing!

2009-09-11T07:06:00.001-07:00

During the ACFW conference in Denver next week there is going to be a huge book signing! Over 100 Christian authors will be participating and books will be available for sale. If you are in the area you won't want to miss this special opportunity.

The signing will be held on Saturday, 9/19/09 from 4:00-5:30, at the Mariott Tech Center in Denver. Hope to see you there and just to whet your appetite, here's the list of authors that will sign books:

Carolyne Aarsen
Diane Ashley
Ruth Axtell Morren
Rick Barry
Christina Berry
Lauralee Bliss
Diana Brandmeyer
Sandra Bricker
Margaret Brownley
Candace Calvert
Robin Caroll
Jeanie Smith Cash
Colleen Coble
Brandilyn Collins
Mary Connealy
Shirley Connolly
Margaret Daley
Susan Page Davis
Mary Davis
Janet Dean
Megan DiMaria
Lena Nelson Dooley
Wanda Dyson
Leanna Ellis
Pamela Ewen
Miralee Ferrell
Linda Ford
Tina Ann Forkner
Judy Gann
Jeff Gerke
Rhonda Gibson
Debby Giusti
Sandra Glahn
Elizabeth Goddard
Winnie Griggs
Cathy Marie Hake
Lisa Harris
Mary Hawkins
Roxanne Henke
Cynthia Hickey
Patti Hill
Denise Hunter
Annette Irby
Myra Johnson
Liz Johnson
Jenny Jones
Eileen Key
LAURIE Kingery
Kathleen Kovach
Harry Kraus
Jeanne Marie Leach
Tosca Lee
Julie Lessman
Loree Lough
Elizabeth Ludwig
Richard Mabry
Debbie Macomber
Joyce Magnin
Gail Gaymer Martin
Judy/Jude Martin-Urban/Urbanski
Debby Mayne
Aaron McCarver
Vickie McDonough
Dana Mentink
Robin Miller writing as Robin Caroll
DiAnn Mills
Stephanie Morrill
Janelle Mowery
Jill Elizabeth Nelson
Kevin Parsons
Golden Keyes Parsons
Donita K. Paul
Tracie Peterson
Allie Pleiter
Cara Putman
Tara Randel
Deborah Raney
Sandra Robbins
Kim Sawyer
Marc Schooley
Michael Sheehan
Shelley Shepard Gray
Ann Shorey
Beth Shriver
Sandra Lee Smith
Virginia Smith
Betsy St. Amant
Therese Stenzel
Stuart Stockton
Alison Strobel
Michelle Sutton
Camy Tang
Donn Taylor
Janice (Hanna) Thompson
Missy Tippens
Pamela Tracy
Carrie Turansky
Deborah Vogts
Jenness Walker
Dan Walsh
Susan May Warren
Michael Webb
Kit Wilkinson
Lisa Wingate
Beth Wiseman
Kimberley Woodhouse
Lenora Worth
Cheryl Wyatt
Kathleen Y'Barbo

ACFW Conference Coming!

2009-09-09T04:43:00.000-07:00

"The Premier Christian Fiction Conference"

STANDING FIRM...MOVING FORWARD

"Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the Lord." 1 Corinthians 15:58 (KJV)

DENVER, COLORADO SEPTEMBER 17 - 20, 2009

Bestselling authors, publishing industry representatives, and newcomers to Christian fiction writing will gather in Denver at the American Christian Fiction Writer’s annual conference September 17-20 to compare notes, learn from each other, and encourage one another in the pursuit of publishing goals.

This year’s conference theme , Standing Firm…Moving Forward, will especially inspire the full range of talent and dreams in the ever-changing publishing world today.

This amazing conference will feature representatives from major publishing houses like B & H, Guideposts, Zondervan, Harvest House, Barbour, Steeple Hill, Summerside Press, Bethany House, Waterbrook Multnomah, Marcher Lord Press, Tyndale House, and Thomas Nelson, and top literary agents who will meet with writers and identify promising proposals from both new and veteran novelists. Conferees will have access to publishing panels, professional critiques, and customized workshops based on skills and interests.

The keynote speaker is New York Times bestselling author, Debbie Macomber, who has more than 100 million copies of her books in print worldwide.

Learn more about the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Conference by visiting www.acfw.com. Click on the left sidebar on Annual Conference.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 35

2009-09-08T02:00:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne scrambled for her door. “No way. I’m coming too.” What was she saying? She wanted to stay as far away from Rick Armstrong as she could.

Erik glared at her his arms crossed. “I don’t have time to argue about this.”

“No, what you don’t have time for is to search the entire station by yourself. We don’t have to argue, you know. Just be reasonable.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked, but at last he motioned her forward. “When we get in, you head to the left and I’ll take the right.”

She nodded.

He held the door open for her. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like making condescending remarks to the people I’m working with?” Anne shot over her shoulder. She didn’t wait to hear his response but swept to the left of the door, her gaze scouring the sparse population of travelers.

The trouble with Armstrong was that aside from his beard, he looked perfectly average. Unless she saw his face, she wasn’t certain she would recognize him. On the other hand it ought to be fairly easy to spot a fellow with an inordinate interest in the ladies’ room.

She wracked her brain to see whether she had specified the location of the hiding place. It had been in her interests to be as vague as possible, so she didn’t think she had. It had been so crazy at the time she couldn’t be sure, however.

She had to think. What would Rick do in such circumstances? He seemed the kind of person more inclined to think than act. He had left the heavy lifting to his employees for the most part, only stepping in when he had no choice. Maybe she was going about her search all wrong.

Forget about splitting the station in half. There weren’t very many women in the cavernous station. It wouldn’t take long to canvass them and find out if they had been approached and asked to go in the ladies’ room and retrieve some documents.

Swallowing her reservations about approaching strangers, Anne headed straight for the first female she saw. A glitzily made up number in a sequin studded dress and ankle breaking high heels.

The woman blew out a long, sensuous strand of smoke before replying. “Naw, honey. I haven’t talked to nobody all night. This place is deader than a tent revival for my kind of work tonight.”

Anne thanked her hurriedly and rushed on. She couldn’t waste time being shocked. She stopped two more women who denied being approached by anyone.

She had to find Rick Armstrong. Good grief, what if he meant to hop a train somewhere as soon as he found that there were no documents awaiting him? She swallowed hard. He’d be gone for good. Why oh why had she ever thought of such a lousy lie in the first place?

She accosted a tired looking woman in a rumpled suit and asked her question.

“Way what is this? Are you two working some kind of con? Leave me alone before I call the police.”

Panting, Anne shook her head. “No. It’s not like that at all. The man is a criminal, he’s looking for—please, can you just tell me where he is?”

Something in her frantic manner must have struck a chord with the woman. She pointed toward a brown coated man heading away from them. It could be Armstrong.

Anne flung a thank you over her shoulder as she sprinted away.

Announcement!

2009-08-31T08:08:00.000-07:00

I'm taking part in a new blog, Inkwell Inspirations. You can check it out here. This is a group effort, so we'll be posting every day. We have a lot of fun things planned, starting with Giveaways! We'll be doing a giveaway every week day from now until Oct. 31. Just comment on a post to get a chance to win. In addition, each day you comment your name will go into a Grand Prize drawing. We'll be giving away two grand prizes!

I hope you check us out and join in the fun.

We'll return to your regularly scheduled post next week.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 34

2009-08-25T10:27:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Light posts zipped by. Anne braced herself for a sharp right turn.

A grin played about Erik’s lips and she had a feeling he lived for this, the thrill of the chase. He glanced over at her.

“I know a shortcut. Ought to save us ten minutes or so. We’ll get him.”

“Good.” Exhaustion pushed her head back against the seat. “I never did get him to confess.” A yawn escaped before she could swallow it back.

He glanced over at her again before cutting his eyes back to the road. “So spill it. What makes you so certain that he’s going to head to Grand Central?”

Anne grimaced. She might be completely off base, but then again, if she were, the only thing at risk was her pride. “I thought—I mean it occurred to me.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I think this is part of a Russian plot.”

Erik’s head whipped toward her. “What?”

Anne pointed frantically. “The road!”

He yanked the wheel back and Anne slid across the seat to bang into his side.

“Sorry.” He helped her sit up again. “What did you say?”

Her cheeks burned. “Russians. Communists.”

“How did you leap to that conclusion.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “There were a couple things. I kept wondering why they needed so many sets of plates. Plus there was the cost of the operation and those papers Carol gave me. It occurred to me that there had to be an organization fronting the costs.”

Erik nodded. “Did you think of the mob?”

“What would the mob need with so many sets? Surely one or two good sets of plates would be enough to make the thing lucrative. I thought what would happen if a set of those plates were sent to every major city in the country. Just think what would happen if counterfeit currency flooded the markets in every part of the nation.”

A low whistle emerged from Erik’s lips. “Confidence in our currency would collapse. The markets would panic.”

His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second.

He gave a little huff of air through his nose. “That’s why he has to go back for those papers. I thought they felt like the real deal, and they were. They must have someone inside the National Mint. He’s determined to get those documents because if we realize what they are their whole plot could be exposed.”

“That’s what I thought.”

A wicked gleam came into his eye. The car’s tires screeched in protest as he slammed on the brakes in front of Grand Central’s main entrance.

He thrust open the car door. “Stay here.”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 33

2009-08-18T05:04:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne snatched at the handle and slammed her shoulder into the door. Rick grabbed for as she half-fell from the car and His fingers closed on the hem of her sweater but she wrenched free, falling to her hands and knees.

A car door slammed and running feet smacked the pavement.

Anne scrambled upright and around the car before Rick could clamber across the seat and nab her again. Erik appeared in a circle of light cast by a streetlight. His face was set in tense ridges and he held a revolver in his hand.

Thank you, Jesus. Anne sprinted toward him, expecting at any moment for a bullet to pierce something vital.

A bang.

She winced expecting to feel the fiery punch of a bullet. Her wits caught up with her instinct a second later. It hadn’t been a gunshot. It’d been the sound of a door closing. Tires squealed and the Ford rocketed forward heedless of the red light or any traffic laws.

She barreled into Erik and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.

“Are you ok?”

All too glad to allow herself to be supported by the warm strength of his arms, Anne relaxed into him. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Her answer was muffled by his trench coat.

He stepped back but gripped her shoulders. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’m not hurt.” Although without his supporting warmth, cold shivers prickled her skin and she began to shake.

“Thank, God.” He embraced her again briefly. “Were you able to get him to confess?”

“No.” She’d failed. The enormity of it stung her to the quick, bringing tears to her eyes. What use were her wild theories when she’d let Rick get away. Unless… “Do you think the other agents will be able to follow him?”

A grimace twisted his features. “There aren’t any others.”

“What?” It was Anne’s turn to step away from him.

“My bosses’ boss pulled everyone from my detail. Said we were chasing a wild theory.”

“So I really did let him get away.”

“He’ll have to surface sometime and we’ll have his description circulated. We’ve got the plate number to his car. We’ll get him. It’s only a matter of time.”

Anne shook her head. “I don’t think you will. If I’m right this conspiracy goes much deeper than we originally thought.”

Erik frowned. “What are—”

“Wait.” Anne held up a hand. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Rick had been desperate to get those papers. He wouldn’t leave the area without them. “I think I know where he is going.”

Brows lowered in confusion, Erik let her drag him back to where his car sat idling in the middle of the road.

“Get in, get in. We don’t want to miss him.”

“But where?”

“Grand Central.”

“He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to get a train out of town.”

“No, no he’s looking for something.” Anne darted around to the passenger side and shut herself in. “He wouldn’t believe I’d given up the papers so I told him I’d hidden them.”

Erik put the car in motion. “At this point don’t you think he’d just let it go?”

“No. Please. It’s worth a chance at least. Isn’t it?”

“If you say so.” He accelerated through the light and picked up speed.

“You’ve got to hurry. If we don’t catch up to him pronto I have a feeling he’ll get clean away.”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 32

2009-08-11T07:39:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne sucked in a breath. No, it wasn’t worth the risk of losing Rick altogether. As casually as she could, she raised her hand and tugged on her ear lobe. Rick pulled her down the stairs. In the hush of a midnight street the click of her high heels, and the slap of Rick’s wingtips were the only footsteps she heard. Where were the agents? Shouldn’t pounding footsteps be coming closer?

She pulled against Rick’s grip on her arm and made the signal again. Maybe they just hadn’t seen her movement. Please, Lord.

Rick jerked savagely on her arm. She stumbled forward. Her throat constricted. Something must have gone wrong. What was she going to do now? Goosebumps prickled along her arms.

What would he do when he found out there were no papers hidden at Grand Central? Even if she did have them to hand over, he’d probably kill her.

She breathed in through her nose. She would not throw up. She would not.

Rick dragged her alongside a non-descript Ford sedan and shoved her in the front seat. He entered behind her and she had to scoot quickly across the bench seat to the passenger side.

Rick released her arm. “Don’t try anything funny.” He fumbled the keys from his pocket.

Across the street the headlights of a car flashed on and then off again.

Anne straightened and bit her lip. Had that been a signal? Rigid as a ruler, she waited.

Rick inserted the key and the Ford grumbled to life. He shifted and began to maneuver the car out of the too short space. With cars nearly kissing his bumpers, both before and behind, he was nearly penned in.

Once more the lights flashed. Surely it had been a sign. Anne swallowed and settled back into her seat. She was still wearing the wire. Now, if she could just get Rick to admit to something.

Somehow he managed to steer the car out of the space. He pulled out onto the empty street and settled in his seat. His gun had been put away somewhere for the time being. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

Anne’s eyes locked onto the rear view mirror. No headlights appeared. None of the other cars on the street moved. She wiped sweaty palms against her skirt. They would follow. They had to. They just wouldn’t want Rick to be suspicious, so they would give him a good head start.

“So what makes these papers worth killing for?”

Rick merely grunted.

Anne tried again. “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to move the operation, rather than risk a murder investigation?”

“Stop fishing.” His words warred with the note of satisfaction in his voice.

She might as well press her luck. “Why? We both know you’re not going to let me survive the night.” She paused for just a second. He didn’t protest. Just her luck. Oh, well. In for a penny…

He smirked and said nothing.

“You have a mole in the police office.” As she said it, it became obvious. No wonder there had been so much resistance to investigating Carol’s death. But how had he managed to buy a police officer. How well financed was his operation? If there was that much money flowing then there had to be someone else behind it.

Tom had said that he already made several sets of plates. But Rick had wanted even more. What could he possibly do with so many?

A niggling suspicion began to grow at the back of her mind. She tried to tamp it down. It was too crazy, even for one of her theories. But it would make sense of everything.

The light in front of them turned red and Rick slowed to a stop.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 31

2009-08-04T05:23:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

If Rick flattened Tom, what would she do? On the other hand, if she intervened it would definitely blow her cover. Anne bit back a grimace. Maybe she could draw her attention to herself another way.

She backed away slowly, as if she were trying to avoid notice. A quick jab of her elbow and a table lamp landed with a satisfying crash on the floor. It’s porcelain base turned into a grenade as it smashed, sending shards of china flying in every direction.

Both men turned to her. Rick grabbed for her arm and she snatched it back, whirling for the door. Please God, let Erik have gotten the bugs in place. Her fingers brushed the knob before he tackled her. She crumpled and the momentum carried her forward. Her forehead slammed into the heavy wooden door and she crumpled to the floor.

A million camera flashes exploded before her eyes. Dazed, she blinked and raised shaky fingers to her forehead. They came away splotched with blood. She could feel it trickling down the side of her face.

Rick hauled her to her feet but for some reason she couldn’t seem to make her legs cooperate. Her knees were about as rigid as cooked spaghetti. Her train of thought hadn’t just been derailed it’d been blown up. She tried to think. She had to ask Rick something. Desperately she dredged through the jumbled contents of her brain.

He nudged her back into a chair and she collapsed gratefully. Frowning furiously, Tom handed her his handkerchief and she dabbed at the gash.

“Don’t move.” Rick’s glare pinned her to the seat, not that she could have moved anyway. He crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff drink.

That was it. She had to make him admit to killing Carol. A flash of pride at recovering the lost information fueled the return of her ability to speak, even if the words did feel a little mushy as they exited her mouth. “You gonna kill me like you did Carol?”

Tom’s gaze skittered from her to Rick and back again.

Rick’s sneer was eloquent. “You’re certainly asking for it as much as she did.” He swigged the last of his booze. “But first you’re going to get me those papers.”

Tom’s fingers flexed in and out, bunching into fists and releasing. “Are you saying that you did kill Carol?” His tone had a strangled quality to it.

“I don’t know why you’re wasting so much effort on that broad. She was going to betray you. Betray us. You’re better—”

An animal cry erupted from Tom and he dove at his former employer. Rick toppled sideways but as they grappled he quickly gained the upper hand.

Anne found her feet and stood. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the brawl.

They gained their footing again and separated, circling one another like boxers trading jabs.

Anne glanced around for a weapon of some kind. If Tom started to lose again, she needed to be able to help. No way was she going to let Rick get the upper hand again.

At last, Tom landed a good solid uppercut and Rick staggered back a pace. He leaned against the liquor cabinet shaking his head and blinking as if he were as dazed as she had been a moment ago.

Anne gulped in a relieved breath. But something was wrong.

A sly smirk flashed across Rick’s face.

She stepped forward, hand outstretched.

Too late.

Rick’s arm swung back out toward Tom, only this time it was holding a whiskey bottle.

The bottle connected solidly against Tom’s temple and he slumped to the floor.

Anne scrambled to his side. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Rick nudged the fallen man with the toe of his shoe. “He’s becoming more trouble than he’s worth.”

He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hall. “Harry!”

No response. He stalked to a door and pulled it open. Inside Anne caught a glimpse of a narrow staircase leading down into a cement-floored basement. The rumble of some kind of machinery floated up to them.

“Hey, Harry!”

The machinery ground to a halt. “Yeah, Boss?”

“Get up here and keep an eye on Tom. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Sure thing.”

“And, Harry.”

“Yeah Boss?”

“Don’t let him leave. He’s not a friendly anymore.”

Dear, Lord. Where were the Secret Service agents? Why weren’t they swarming the place?

Rick’s grip on her arm tightened again. It was going to be black and blue in the morning. Providing she survived until morning. He propelled her out the front door.

She glanced down both ways down the street but couldn’t see either of the vehicles that were supposed to have agents in them.

Where were they?

The pea sized ball of fear that lay in her stomach all evening suddenly blossomed and sprouted shoots that twined around her heart and lungs constricting until it was hard to breathe. She was being silly. They were there somewhere. Right where they were supposed to be. Of course they couldn’t be easily seen, that would defeat the purpose. Erik was there, somewhere in the darkness. Watching and waiting.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 30

2009-07-28T06:44:00.001-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Rick held his hand out toward Anne and motioned for her to fork over the documents. “C’mon.”

Anne shook her head. “I don’t have them anymore.”

His features, especially his eyes, hardened like cement that had set in a fraction of a second. His glance flicked over to Tom, and she could nearly hear the scrape of stone on stone in the minute movement. Anne licked her lips.

“You didn’t make sure she had the documents before you brought her here?”

Tom shrugged. “She said she didn’t have them.”

“And you believed her.” Scathing contempt crushed all inflection from the words.

Sweat stood out on Tom’s forehead and upper lip. He made an effort to appear casual with another shrug, but he couldn’t seem to muster any words to fit the gesture.

His lip curled up in disgust, Rick turned his granite gaze back to Anne. “Where are they?”

“I’m… um.” She couldn’t get her voice to work properly.

Rick stepped forward, his movements silent and deliberate. His fingers closed around her wrist, not hard but tightly enough that she could not have broken free. He led her into the sitting room. His hand on her shoulder pushed her into a chair. Once more he avoided hurting her, using just enough force that there was no choice but to comply.

“Now what did you do with those papers?” He took the chair across from her, even putting one ankle up on his knee as if he were settling in to read the newspaper.

Anne swallowed against the dry rot that had settled in her throat. “I gave them to the police.” She sounded nearly as hoarse as Donald Duck.

Rick’s sneer made him look like Vincent Price. “Try again.” He pulled a small, blunt nosed little gun from his pocket and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Remember this time, that you’ll regret it if you don’t tell me the truth.”

Anne’s thoughts swirled like water rushing to escape down the drain. She’d told him what was essentially the truth. The authorities had the documents. What was she to do? God shall send strong delusion, that they should believe a lie. The snippet of scripture pinged off one side of her brain and she snatched at it before it could get away. If he refused to believe the truth…

“I hid them somewhere safe.” The words spilled from her lips before she had consciously formulated the sentence.

“Where?”

Good question. She wracked her brain. Somewhere he couldn’t get at without her. No use giving him the idea that it would be easier to shoot her now and be done with her. “I left them behind a loose mirror in one of the ladies bathroom at Grand Central.”

He gave her a do-you-think-I’m-stupid look and tightened his casual grip on the gun.

Whatever had possessed her to say that? Anne held her hands up. “We can go get it now. I’ll take you to it I swear.”

His eyes narrowed. “How did you come across this handy dandy hiding spot of yours?”

She couldn’t stop shaking, but she tried to act casual. “They say necessity is the mother of invention. I didn’t want it anywhere near me after your goons trashed my apartment. So last night on the way here, I put them in the first concealed spot I came across.”

He seemed to be buying it, sort of. His grip on the gun had relaxed… marginally.

“I was going to get them on my way home last night, but then I thought it might be better to keep them at a distance.”

Rick stood. “We’re going to go get those documents.”

“But why?” Anne asked. Erik would be giddy if she could get Rick to admit to the counterfeiting. “They’re gibberish. I never could tell what Carol meant to say with any of them.”

“Never mind. All that matters is that I want them and you’re going to get them for me.”

“But why?” Tom asked. “Why risk walking into a trap?”

Rick rounded on him. “We need that paper. It’s the real deal.”

Tom’s eyebrows rocketed upwards. “You mean it’s the same kind they make real money out of?”

Rick shot out a hand and administered a vicious backhanded slap to Tom’s face. “Shut up!”

Anne jumped, her nerves zinging as if she had been the one smacked.

Tom’s hands balled into fists. “Don’t you ever hit me again.”

“Or what?”

“You’ll regret it, that’s what.”

They were nose to nose now. Shoulders squared, sneers fixed and braced for combat.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 29

2009-07-21T05:38:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

The trip out to East Orange was accomplished in near silence. Sandwiched between Erik and Tom, Anne tried once to start a conversation, but their caveman grunts indicated they weren’t in the mood for chitchat.

The car pulled to the curb around the corner from the gang’s hideout. Tom helped her from the car.

Erik stuck his head out of the car. “You’re both set. Anne, We have a car parked just down the street, and I’ll be on the wall with our bugs. If things get out of hand, holler and we’ll bust in. Better to get them for something than let them get away all together, or let them hurt you. Got it?”

Anne nodded.

“Okay.” He reached through the window and grasped her hand briefly. “You take care of her pal. She gets hurt and it’s coming out of your hide.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that much crystal clear.”

Tom took Anne’s elbow and she allowed herself to be guided around the corner and onto the street she’d fled down. Had it only been last night? It seemed eons ago. They walked slowly to give the secret service teams time to take up their places.

Tom leaned closer. “I’ll try not to hurt you, but we gotta make it look good for Rick. He won’t buy anything else. But I’ll try to keep him and the other from manhandling you.”

Anne licked her lips. Lord, she needed an extra dose of courage. Any more reassurances like that and she’d be running for the train station and a one-way ticket back to Ohio.

At least Erik was nearby. He wouldn’t let anything serious happen. He and his men would make sure things turned out happily ever after. It was their job.

“Which one is it?” She asked in the dry husk of what was left of her voice.

Tom indicated the right one with a thrust of his chin and she gazed at it. Even knowing it was the right place, she could discern nothing sinister about it. A light shown in one of the downstairs room and the curtains were drawn back. The window boxes were neatly trimmed and overflowing with pink and purple flowers. It even looked like the steps had been swept.

Maybe he’d meant one of the others. Her gaze searched the nearby houses but they looked no more ominous than the one he had indicated. It probably made good sense to blend into the neighborhood so thoroughly, but it didn’t seem fair somehow. Lacey Carew’s opponents always left the most obliging telltale signs that they were up to no good.

But then perhaps she shouldn’t base her expectations of real criminals on a series of children’s books.

“Okay get ready. Just look scared out of your wits and let me do the talking.” Tom’s attempt at bravado would have gone over better if his hand hadn’t turned clammy on her arm, and his adam’s apple hadn’t bobbed like it was trying to flag down a bartender.

Saliva flooded her own mouth and she swallowed hard. At least she had the easy part. Looking scared should not tax her acting skills a bit.

Tom’s fingers closed tighter on her arm and he thrust her in front of him. He barreled through the front door, the hall and into the living room. He kept her in front of him, propelling her forward so quickly that she stumbled, continuing on, only because of his hold on her.

“Rick!”

Rick, aka Van Dyke emerged from the door at the far end of the room. “Tom, what can possibly—” One eyebrow hitched up a notch as he caught sight of Anne. “Oh.”

“I took matters into my own hands. She was stupid enough to go back to her own apartment and I just picked her up there.”

“I see.”

Tom scowled. “Well did you want her or not?”

“Of course we want her. She has seen too much. But I also need those documents.” He wagged a finger at her. “That was not a nice trick, Miss Leighton. I was most displeased.”

Anne said nothing, allowing her gaze to rove the room as if she was terrified and trying to find a likely escape route.

What line should she take?

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 28

2009-07-14T05:11:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne’s fists balled on her hips again. The gesture was becoming a bad habit. “Listen, without us you would have zilch on this case. You need to think beyond the counterfeiting and your nice, easy case. My friend was murdered because she contacted you about what she discovered.”

Erik looked stricken and pulled back as if she had suddenly sprouted snakes for hair.

Anne softened her demeanor, holding her hands out almost in supplication. “Please, we only want justice for Carol. She was too special for her life to be shoved aside in favor of a case about money.”

Tom wisely kept quiet, in fact he didn’t even seem to be breathing as Erik considered. Had she gone too far?

“You know I’m not the bad guy here, right?”

Anne swallowed. “I do know that. You’ve been swell. I never meant to imply—”

Erik waved her fumbling response into silence. “All right, I’ll give you the chance to do this your way. We’re only going to get the one opportunity. If it doesn’t go well my boss will take over and the only thing he gives a fig for is the job. He’ll play it straight by the book.”

Chastened, Anne swallowed again and nodded. Her words had really wounded him, the hurt in those gorgeous eyes was so obvious that she wanted to shout an apology. And that comment about his boss. Was it possible he was sticking his neck out on this case?

“So here’s how it is going to play out. I’ll get a wire for both of you. I’ll also see if I can get the boys to place a tap through one of the walls. Tom I need you to describe the layout of the house and grounds, so we get it in the right place.”

“I have paper, Tom’s an artist, he could draw it.” Anne volunteered. It was poor compensation for her previous attitude, but hopefully it would help to make amends.

Erik nodded and she hopped up to retrieve paper and pen and clear a space on the side table for Tom to sketch.

Tom bent over the paper, his tongue protruding slightly from between his teeth as he concentrated on the diagram.

Erik ran downstairs to send one of his men to retrieve the equipment they would need.

At loose ends, Anne wandered into the kitchen. Should she make a pot of coffee? It might prove to be a long night. She settled for another bottle of Coke and stood looking out the window at the scant patch of backyard shrouded in drying laundry.

“Lord, we need your help if we are going to succeed in this crazy plan. Please pour out wisdom and discernment on us as we go into this lion’s den.”

“What?”

Anne started, dumping half her soda down the front of her blouse.

Erik stood in the door, brows raised in expectation as he waited for her to repeat what he’d obviously taken as a comment addressed to him.

Anne snatched a kitchen towel and blotted at the mess. “I was praying.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up in a rueful smile. “Say one for me while you’re at it. I have a feeling we’re going to need prayer tonight.”

“Can I get you or your men anything?”

“If you have a thermos we’ll probably want some coffee later.”

Anne filled the percolator for what seemed the umpteenth time that day and then excused herself to change clothes. What was the proper wardrobe for a hostage? Something practical. Definitely, something practical. No four-inch heels. No skinny pencil skirts.

She pulled on a fuzzy warm sweater set, and traded her pumps for loafers. At least she’d be able to run if necessary. The men were moving and murmuring in the living room and for an instant she wanted nothing more than to hide under her covers with her pillow over her head. Bile seared the back of her throat. What was she thinking? This whole plan was crazy. Was she really going to try to lay a trap for a killer?

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 27

2009-07-07T12:28:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

“I’m game.” Anne responded without hesitation.

“Hold it.” Erik pushed himself away from his seat and eyed her as if she were a nut. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the bait usually gets eaten by the fish.”

“Well I’ve come this far. I want to see this through.”

“You don’t even know what this—this spiv, wants you to do.” Erik waved a hand at Tom.

“Hey, I’m no con man. I’ve told you everything I know.”

The tip of Erik’s nose twitched as if he were struggling not to sneer. “You told us a nice story, but I’m not interested in stories. You got anything to back up your claims?”

Tom’s shrugged, his hands spreading wide. “Like what?”

“You tell me. This is your fairy tale.”

Tom stood now, facing off against Erik. “Listen, I’ve spilled my guts—”

Anne inserted herself between the two men. “What were you thinking of doing Tom? Maybe if we get close enough to Van Dyke, I mean Rick, we can get the proof Erik needs to make a case.”

Tom’s eyes met hers and his jaw slowly relaxed. “I was thinking earlier that Rick, meant me to kill you. It’s the kind of thing he’d do. I see that now.”

“And you want me to send her with you alone?” Erik shook his head. “I don’t think so. With your statement we’ve got enough to bring him in on the counterfeit charges. Once our interrogators have a go at him he’ll cough up on the details about Carol.”

It was Tom’s turn to shake his head. “And risk the electric chair? No way. He’s not stupid.”

“I’m with Tom on this. You take him in on the counterfeit charge and it’s like giving him a walk on Carol’s murder. We’ve got nothing tying him to it right now. Lets at least hear Tom’s idea.”

Arms crossed, Erik looked from her to Tom and back again. “All right. Let’s have it.”

Tom’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’s like I said. Rick meant me to kill Anne. What if I take her back with me and confront him with his lies? I can act all confused.”

“Shouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

Anne pretended not to hear Erik’s muttered comment.

“We’re more likely to get him to admit something if he thinks I’m still under his thumb.”

“I still say it’s too dangerous.” A look of mulish stubbornness had settled over Erik’s handsome features.

Anne chose not to point out that he had no right to decide what she could or couldn’t do. “What if one of us wore a wire?”

Erik’s brow furrowed and Anne blushed. “That’s the right term isn’t it?”

“I think you’ve been watching too many spy movies.” But a speculative gleam glinted in his eye.

“I think it’s a good idea. If you have agents in place to nab him, you could move in right away if anything goes wrong.”

Anne licked her lips. He was on the verge of deciding one way or the other. Should she try to sweet-talk him or play hardball?

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 26

2009-06-30T06:57:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne jerked her arm free and lowered her voice. “Hear him out.”

“Believe me, I will wring it out of him if need be. He’ll have my full attention.”

Jaw set, she stepped back, put her hands on her hips, and raised her voice “I’m afraid you gentlemen have made a mistake.”

The three agents halted at the door. They looked to Erik for confirmation.

He took a step closer to Anne. “This is baloney and you know it,” he muttered.

She lowered her voice as well. “Just take him in the kitchen. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar. I promise.”

“Agent Carter?”

Erik sighed. “Let him go.”

“This isn’t the guy?”

“I’m going to have a little chat with these two and get this sorted out. You fellas take up position in the hall and street. Make sure no one comes in or out, without my say so.”

Nodding, the agents released their captive with obvious reluctance and filed out the door.

Erik stood in the center of the room, arms crossed and spine rigid. “Spill it.”

Now that she had won her point, Anne regretted her tactics. Erik wasn’t the bad guy. He was just trying to do his job. “Tom didn’t have anything to do with Carol’s death.”

“Tom is it?”

Anne held up her hands. “Let’s sit down.” Her gaze sought Tom’s. “He’ll tell us everything he knows.”

He nodded and flopped into the nearest chair. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just catch Armstrong.”

At last, Erik unbent enough to take a seat. “Who’s Armstrong?”

Tom rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. “Rick Armstrong. He approached me about six months ago. I was strapped for cash and he offered me a way out, without getting my legs broken, or worse.”

All but holding her breath, Anne settled into a seat.

“I’m an engraver see. A good one. He wanted plates made for ten and twenty dollar bills. I wasn’t going to go along with it at first, but then he persuaded me that it was my only option. And he said he’d cut me in on the deal. He made it sound foolproof.” His hands moved to scour through his hair.

“Then what happened?”

“I met Carol. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. And smart. And loyal. And…” His voice seemed to catch. “We were going to get married. I didn’t want her tangled up with a creep like Armstrong, so I started trying to get out. The twenty-dollar plates were done, and I told Armstrong that I’d take a flat fee and be out of his hair for good. He wasn’t having none of it though. That’s when I realized that this wasn’t strictly small time. He wanted more plates. Lots more.”

“How many?”

“At least a dozen sets.”

Erik let out a low whistle.

“I don’t know how Carol found out what I was caught up in, but she did. That’s when Armstrong told me about another gang that was trying to horn in on our operation. I didn’t want her caught in the middle, so I sent Carol home to Ohio, and told her I’d clear out and come for her as soon as I could.” He heaved a breath as if coming to the end of a steep climb.

“Armstrong told me this morning that Anne here was part of Joe Gansky’s gang and that he’d found out she’d pushed Carol in front of a car. He said it was why he tried to bring her in last night. When he told me about Carol, I…”

Anne leaned toward Tom and rubbed his arm.

“I waited until he went out and then I came over here to kill her.”

Erik eyes flickered over her as if he thought she were crazy, but he didn’t comment on the fact that she was trying to comfort the man who’d set out that day to kill her. “So what’s Armstrong’s angle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“I told you I thought this was strictly small time, but he’s got way more funding than he should.”

“How many sets of plates did you make?”

“I got eight sets of twenties done.”

Anne shook her head. “So how do we get him?”

Both men looked at her.

“Not just for the counterfeiting, but Carol’s murder,” she continued.

Tom licked his lips, and a spark flared in his eyes. “I’ve got an idea, at least if you’ll help Anne. It’d mean making you bait.”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 25

2009-06-23T05:18:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

One eye still on Handsome in case he turned rabid again, Anne turned to the icebox. She extracted two Coke bottles and slid them onto the table.

Handsome continued to stare into the middle distance, his head wobbling in steady denial. More confident now, she rummaged for the bottle opener. There was more to all this than they had realized. There must be. Things weren’t adding up. Or rather, it was like trying to add three and five and coming up with the answer purple.

She popped the cap off the Coke and handed it to Handsome. He blinked slowly and then set down the gun to accept the bottle. He turned the bottle up and took a swig. Anne slid the gun toward her and then scooped it into her lap. He made no move to stop her. He seemed coated in a layer of cement that made his movement stiff and heavy, dulled his features and turned him a little grey.

She opened her own Coke and gulped some down. The fizz worked to loosen her vocal chords. She spoke in the soothing, but slightly authoritative tone of a school nurse. “Let me tell you what I know.”

His eyes rose from inspection of the formica table and focused on her face. “Do you know what’s going on? What happened to Carol?”

Anne poured out the tale of her lunch with Carol and all that had happened since. As she spoke, she could see the gears of his mind creaking back to life. Muscles bunched and tightened in his shoulders and he leaned toward her across the table.

“You’re sure she never left East Orange?’

Anne shook her head.

He whipped his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair, setting it on end. “I should have known something was wrong when she didn’t telegraph that she’d arrived safe. I just thought she was being cautious.”

Anne captured his gaze. “Now, you need to tell me what you know. Everything. Let’s start with your name.”

“You’ll help me nail him to the wall?”

“We’ll get him.”

Red-rimmed his eyes as he nodded. “My name is Tom Deschamps. It started about six months ago. This guy, Rick Armstrong, approached me about doing a little job for him.”

“Hands up!” Bellowed commands filled the kitchen as the swinging door exploded inward. “Get down.”

The clock sprang from it moorings and shattered on impact with floor.

Anne ducked, flinging her hands over her head.

Tom’s chair was overturned with him still in it and two men swarmed over him. Strong hands pulled Anne to her feet. The gun in her lap clattered to the floor. One of the men snatched it up and thrust it in a pocket. A dark suit bustled her into the living room.

“You okay?”

Trembling, Anne looked up into Erik’s eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Secure.” Someone called from the kitchen.

A deep V puckered beneath his eyebrows. “Saving your tail.”

“You’re too late for that.”

“What do you mean by that? Don’t try to tell me you were having a chat with a neighbor. You’re not even supposed to be up here.”

Anne put her hands on her hips. “Who are those guys?”

“Agents. We’re taking you into protective custody.”

Three men hustled Tom from the kitchen. His hands were cuffed behind him, and from the swelling around his eye, he was going to have one doozy of a shiner.

Anne shook her head. “What if I say he has nothing to do with this?”

Scowling furiously, Erik took her arm, forcing her to look at him. “Does he or not?”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 24

2009-06-16T06:08:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

“What?” Anne twisted in his grip, trying to look into his eyes.

Handsome was having none of it. He shoved her into a chair, keeping the gun trained on her.

Anne held out her hands. “I didn’t kill Carol. She was one of my best friends.”

“Save it, Sister. Rick told me all about the kind of games you play.”

Was this some sort of nightmare Alice in Wonderland? Anne shook her head. How could she get to the bottom of this? More importantly how could she get him to stop waving that revolver around like it were no more dangerous than a fountain pen. She breathed a silent prayer. “I don’t know what—”

“Just give me the papers that you took from her. The real papers this time.”

“No.” Anne stiffened as the word burst from her. She couldn’t inhale. Couldn’t think. She had to find a way to show him he was mistaken.

His eyes widened and he stepped toward her again.

“Carol gave them to me because she was scared. She knew something awful was going to happen and she wanted me to figure it out.”

He shook his head wildly. “No. You’re lying.”

Anne tried to relax into the chair, but she couldn’t quite manage the semblance of unconcern. “It was your friend with the Van Dyke beard. Is that Rick? He must have suspected she was on to him, and was going to blow the gaff.”

Handsome raised his hands to cover his ears. His face screwed up into an ugly, red mask. At least the gun was no longer pointing at her.

The words continued to tumble from Anne, she had to reach him somehow. “What would I have to gain by getting those papers? Much less murdering for them.” Surely he would recognize the ring of truth? Or perhaps he didn’t want to know the truth. From the tormented expression on his face, perhaps the truth would hurt worse than believing a convenient lie.

“You’re part of Joe Gansky’s gang. They’ve been trying to horn in on our operation.” The conviction had fled his voice. Tears trickled down the sides of his cheeks. He looked deflated. Worn out. Defeated.

Anne shook her head. She reached a tentative hand toward him. “I think we both know that’s not true. Why would anyone have gone after Carol, she wasn’t supposed to know anything was she?”

He slumped into the seat opposite her. His hands still held the gun, but he gazed at it as if it had somehow attached itself to him when he wasn’t looking.

“You were Carol’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah. I just found out about her today. I—” His voice cracked. “Rick just told me she was murdered today. She was supposed to be at her parent’s in Ohio. How…” Bewilderment edged the words in a stark monotone.

Anne licked her lips and stood. He scarcely glanced up.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 23

2009-06-09T07:38:00.001-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne patrolled the room like a sentry. 10 paces, 6 paces, 10 paces, six paces. Turn and march. Arggh! She ought to be doing something.

She had already been upstairs once. What would one quick trip hurt? Even if the gang were watching the building from outside, they wouldn’t see her slip up the stairs. There had been no sign of any sinister presence in the street in any event. She had spent enough time peeking through the curtains to know that much.

Head close to the front door, she eased it open an inch. She pressed her face closer, catching the whiff of floor wax and motley cooking smells. Nothing stirred in the hall. She opened the door another few inches and stuck her head out.

The tinny sound of radio jazz slipped under the door of Mrs. Gardiner’s apartment to shimmy down the hall. Otherwise there was only the dry, empty silence of a shell when the hatchlings have departed.

She was creeping herself out. Smiling at her silliness, Anne opened the door resolutely and plunged up the stairs. Her fingers trembled with pent up energy as she piled crisp white paper atop her lovely typewriter case and topped the whole with the precious outline.

Arms filled, she backed through her apartment door and hurried back to the stairs. Her heart pumped like she was in an Easter egg relay race. Giddy energy piled up inside her until she nearly giggled. Yes, she definitely needed something to occupy her mind.

Breathless and racing she barreled around onto the landing and onto the next flight of stairs before realizing someone was coming up.

“Sorry!” Self-consciously she took a step back.

The man raised his head and their gazes met.

It was Handsome.

Anne hurled the typewriter at him. He cast up an arm to block the heavy missile. A thud. A grunt. White paper took wing like a flock of pigeons, fluttering and flapping. Anne whirled and dashed back the way she had come. Stupid. Stupid. She should have stayed put.

Her feet clattered on the stairs, but a heavier tread was starting up behind her. She flung herself into her apartment and through the kitchen. For the second time that day she swarmed toward a fire escape.

She pried at the window lock with sweat-slicked fingers. She had meant to lock trouble out but had only managed to lock herself in with it. A half-formed prayer caught in her throat. The catch grated open a quarter of an inch. A bit more.

A heavy hand grabbed her upper arm. She lashed out with her foot but he seemed ready for her, and sidestepped the attack.

“Hold it, sister.” An ugly blunt nosed revolver was gripped in his other hand.

Anne stilled. Her eyes found Handsome’s face, only he didn’t seem nearly so good-looking this morning. His eyes were bloodshot and stubble leant harsh definition to the planes and angles of his face. Gauntness hung about him as if he had lost twenty pounds overnight.

“Okay. Okay.” She winced as his grip tightened on her arm.

Tears brimmed in his red-rimmed eyes. “Why’d you kill Carol?”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 22

2009-06-02T08:07:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

“No. I’ll be fine. I can stay here with Jilly.”

Erik looked her up and down, her calisthenics with the window earlier clearly had him peg her as a nervous Nellie, but she had her pride. “I’ve got a pal. He’s a cop. he’ll come over and keep you girls safe while I’m gone.”

Relief burbled through Anne though she hated to admit it even to herself. She busied herself with cleaning up the mess from the lemons. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

He did not move for a moment, but Anne could not bring herself to meet his gaze.

“It’ll be okay.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she dashed at them. All she managed to do was get lemon juice in her eyes. With a little cry she rushed to the sink. Who was she trying to kid? She was no intrepid sleuth, no girl Friday, no Lacey Carew. She just wanted the nightmare to be over. She wanted Carol to call and say it had all been a horrible mistake.

Erik placed a tentative arm around her shoulders. How easy it would be to lose herself in the security of strong arms and broad shoulders. When she didn’t pull away he turned her toward him and cradled her head in the hollow of his throat.

His finger curled into the hair at the nape of her neck. “Once I get these papers to the office, they’ll have to take this case seriously. I’ll have more resources and we’ll nail these guys.”

Anne pulled back just a step. “Sorry about that, I got some lemon juice in my eye.”

Their gazes locked for a long minute. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He lowered his mouth toward hers. Anne’s eyes began to drift closed. Then like a dog reaching the end of its chain he stopped short.

He cleared his throat. With an awkward jerky motion he plucked a bit of non-existent fuzz from her cheek. “I better go call Tom.”

He spun on his heel leaving Anne to bang her forehead with the heel of her palm. Good grief she was turning into a goofball. What had gotten into her? Somehow she had slipped out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie and into a Technicolor romantic farce.

She woke Jilly, and by the time she had taken the time to wash her face and brush her hair, Erik’s buddy had arrived. Introductions were completed with a minimum of fuss, and Erik was out the door with the precious evidence.

Tom settled in front of the radio, with his feet up on the coffee table. Unsettled and edgy, Anne retreated to the kitchen to brew more coffee. Jilly cornered her as she spooned grounds into the percolator.

“Anne, I’ve got to get to rehearsal.”

Anne blinked and spilled some of the coffee. “You’ve got to be kidding. Have you forgotten that you were kidnapped last night?”

“I haven’t forgotten. It’s all extremely vivid, thank you very much. I haven’t stopped shaking since last night, and my ankle is killing me, but this role is my shot at the big time. I’m not going to throw it away.”

“It’s not safe. They know where you work.”

“It would be safe if we took Tom with us.”

Anne sighed. She had no desire to go all the way down to the theater. “I’ll tell you what. You take Tom with you and I’ll stay here.”

“Alone?”

“They don’t have any reason to think that I’d be here, so I should be safe enough.”

Jilly seemed to consider. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” And becoming surer by the minute. Some time alone might be just the chance she needed to wrap her head around all that had happened. “Go work your magic on Tom.”

It took even less time for beautiful Jilly to wrap the cop around her finger than Anne had expected. The coffee hadn’t come to a boil before they were out the door with scarcely a toodle loo.

Anne checked the locks on every door and window in the apartment then settled in the spot Tom had vacated. The radio continued to babble and she got up to turn it off. She resumed her seat. The wall clock ticked on and on in monotonous drudgery. When had it become so loud.

She tried to marshal her thoughts. There were things that just didn’t add up. Why for instance would they try so hard to get those papers back unless there were more to them than just the type of paper? Surely they could have moved operations. Murder and kidnapping had only drawn more attention to them.

Her thoughts twisted in on themselves spinning and swirling away like overcooked spaghetti. She stood and paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth. As monotonous as the ticking clock.

What she needed was something to distract her. Something else on which she could focus. And she knew just the thing. She had to get cracking on The Mystery in the Mango Grove. Just like Jilly, this was her big break. Or at least it could be. The only problem was that her typewriter was upstairs in her apartment.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 21

2009-05-26T05:37:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

The doorknob twisted. Anne released the lamp and whirled. She had to get out. She slipped into the kitchen as the front door swung in. Her fingers trembled as she shoved the window up and open. Confident steps sounded on the wooden floor of the living room, coming straight for her.

She sat on the window sill and thrust her legs out onto the fire escape. Her heart seemed suddenly to plunge from her chest to the ground twenty feet below. Dear God, she’d forgotten all about Jilly sleeping peacefully in the bedroom.

She turned back just as the kitchen door eased inward. No time. No time. She twisted her torso to flee through the window.

“Anne?”

She stiffened and looked back. “Erik?”

Eyebrows raised and mouth pursed in bemusement he stood in the middle of the kitchen carrying a brown paper sack. “Something wrong?”

Hand to her chest, Anne clambered back into the apartment. “Only that you scared me to death.”

“I know I don’t look my best in the morning, but don’t you think that’s an exaggeration.”

Anne smoothed her hands over her skirt. She must have looked like an utter idiot. “I thought you were one of the gang.”

“Why would you think that?” He plunked the bag down on the table.

Anne licked her lips. He had lectured her for at least twenty minutes about the dangers of going back to her apartment unaccompanied. Best to sidestep the question if she could. “I guess my imagination got the better of me. It’s the writer’s blessing and curse, you know.”

He continued to eye her oddly. “Maybe next time you have an uncontrollable craving for lemonade we ought to send someone else.” He reached for the bag and upended it. A dozen or more, sunny, yellow lemons bounced and tumbled onto the table.

“Why did you get so many?”

He huffed air through his nostrils. “Better to many than too few. So what’s with the demand for citrus?”

Anne grinned and pulled Carol’s papers from her skirt pocket. “I’ve been thinking about it and the answer may lie in The Adventure of the Notorious Note.”

He continued to look mystified and Anne held up one of the lemons. “Lacey Carew solved that one by using lemon juice to reveal a message that had been written in invisible ink.”

Understanding lit his eyes then and he grinned.

She laid the papers out and he handed her a knife and a clean kitchen rag. She cut the lemon in half and squeezed juice over the cloth. The fresh scent of lemon filled the kitchen. Carefully she dabbed at the first page, covering every inch of its surface. Hardly able to breath, she waited.

Nothing.

She repeated the process with the other pages, as Erik looked on expectantly.

Nothing.

She slumped into a chair. It didn’t make any sense. She’d been so sure. So if there wasn’t a hidden message, what about these papers made them so special that VanDyke’s gang would resort to kidnapping and maybe murder to get them back.

Erik sat beside her and patted her arm in commiseration. He picked up the slightly damp pages and held them up to the light. “Maybe it’s faded.”

Anne shook her head. It was nice of him to try to make her feel better, but there were limits. “No. It’s not.”

He frowned and lowered the papers. Now she’d hurt his feelings. He hung his chin, thumb and forefinger rubbing the document in absent contemplation. It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize when he lifted his head and met her gaze. His grin was so infectious that she couldn’t help but respond.

“It’s the paper.”

She swallowed her smile. A late night and an early morning errand for lemons had obviously left him overly tired. “Um, yes. It’s paper.”

“No.” He waved a hand. “They want the paper. There’s no code or hidden message. It’s the paper itself that is important.”

Anne shook her head.

“U.S. currency is printed on a special kind of paper made from cotton fibers. This kind of paper.” He thrust the pages under her nose.

Her jaw dropped in the manner patented by actresses everywhere to indicate surprise.

“This is the proof we need. I’ve got to get it to the office. Will you be okay if I head downtown?” He looked at her and then glanced at the window. “Maybe it would be best if you come with me.”

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 20

2009-05-19T08:57:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Lemons.

Anne jolted awake. She lay still for a moment, every inch of her tensed like a jack-in-the-box poised to spring. Rosy afternoon sunlight slipped through the cracks in the unfamiliar blinds. Jilly snored peacefully next to her on the bed.

Anne blinked against the sleep that threatened to overwhelm her again. Pigeons cooed and warbled outside the window. Traffic rumbled in the street, the lullaby of the city. Her eyelids drifted lower.

No!

She had to wake up, to remember. Anne forced herself away from the bed’s comforting embrace. Barefoot, and wearing nothing more than her slip, she stood in the center of the room. Eyes narrowed she stared at the cheerful, but barren lemon colored wall.

Lemon.

Yes, that was it.

She had to find Erik. Her clothes from the night before were laid at the end of the bed and she wriggled into them in a flash.

Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Lacey Carew and the Adventure of the Notorious Note had been Carol’s favorite growing up. It all made sense.

Erik stood in his kitchen dumping coffee into the percolator. His movements were so slow she wondered for a second whether he was sleepwalking.

“Erik?”

He whirled, coffee scattered, his right hand leapt to his left side in search of his holster.

“Whoa.” Palms out, she stepped back.

His cheeks flushed and his shoulders sagged. “Sorry, I’m not used to having people around my place.

“I need a lemon.”

“A lemon?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Now?”

“As soon as possible. It’s important.” Anne reached for the coffee. “I’ll do that, you go scrounge a lemon.”

“Can I shave first?”

“Not unless you want me to go do it myself.”

He shook his head. “I’ll go. I’ll go. I assume you don’t have any objections to me putting on shoes?”

“Not if you hurry.”

He grouched from the room, muttering something uncomplimentary about women and setting the swinging kitchen door to squealing.

Anne put the coffee to perking. The front door banged shut, and she scurried from the kitchen in search of her pumps. She had to hurry.

Her heels clicked on the stairs as she hurried up the stairs to her apartment. She tore through into the kitchen and knelt by the table. Her fingers brushed the underside of the table, searching, reaching.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. What if The Guide or one of his fellow bogeymen were lurking nearby in the hopes she was foolish enough to come back alone?

She reached further. There it was. Triumphant she pulled the taped envelope from beneath the table. She pounded back down the stairs and back into Erik’s apartment, locking the door behind her.

She leaned up against the door, for some reason she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Somehow they needed to solve this. Living with this fear for much longer would drive her batty.

The doorknob rattled and a heavy weight thudded up against it. Anne sucked in a breath so quickly that she half-choked. She sidled away from the door.

The knob rattled again.

Her arm brushed against a lampshade, and she picked it up by the neck.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 19

2009-05-12T04:21:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Anne glanced down at Jilly. There was no way she could continue the cat-and-mouse game with her injured ankle. But maybe she could make one short dash.

Anne risked another peek to gauge the car’s distance and speed. They’d only have one chance. Tugging on Jilly’s hand, she hauled her friend back up the stairs.

“Wait.” Her whispered caution wafted on the air, barely discernible above the grumble of the car’s engine.

The car grew nearer, prowling the streets for trouble. It was about to find some.

“Now!”

Half-crouched, Anne sprinted from hiding. She waved her hands trying to draw the driver’s attention. Knowing the men looking for them were just across the street, she couldn’t quite bring herself to scream. Jilly had no such compunctions and at the sound of her blood-curdling shriek, the police car skidded to a stop.

Still crouched to avoid getting shot, Anne rapped on the driver’s side window. “You’ve got to help us.”

“Men are trying to kill us.” Jilly rested against Anne’s back.

The officer started to open the door.

“No!” Both Anne and Jilly blurted.

“Please take us with you.”

In a breathless rush, Anne spilled their story.

The officers glanced at one another. They said not a word, but seemed to communicate with one another regardless. Shaking his head, the driver opened the door for them, and they climbed inside.

So far, so good. They had made it. Surely the goons wouldn’t risk firing on a police car.

“So, uh, where’s this place where you were held?”

Anne leaned forward. “It’s just down the street there.”

They cruised down the street the way Anne and Jilly had just come. Dark shadows dodged and scurried before the car’s headlights. Hunched low in the back seat, Anne peered out the window. Every house in the row looked the same. Which one held Van Dyke and his hoodlums?

She glanced over to Jilly. Her friend shook her head. She didn’t recognize the house either. Anne rubbed her forehead. The cops were already giving each other the lets-humor-the-overwrought-females look.

They made three passes up and down the street, but Anne couldn’t say with any certainty which house they had come from. It was somewhere in the middle, and that was hardly helpful.

“Why don’t we take you ladies back to the station and we’ll have one of the detectives take a report.”

Defeated, Anne nodded.

Together she and Jilly spilled the story to a skeptical Jack Morris. She couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for the tale. It sounded far-fetched as it tumbled out in disconnected strands. Shaking her head she asked to make a phone call.

Erik answered on the first ring.

Weariness hit her like an anvil landing on Daffy Duck. She couldn’t even summon any rage when Detective Morris effectively patted them on the head and sent them on their way with a few bucks for the train ride back to New York.

The sun was rising, looking entirely too cheerful for Anne. Jilly refused to go to the hospital to have her ankle checked out. If possible, she looked even more wrung out than Anne felt.

Erik met them at the station. The expression on his face boded unpleasant conversation to come. He refrained for the moment, however; and Anne wanted to kiss him for not jumping down her throat.

Instead, after one look at them, his eyes turned tender and he shepherded them out to his car. Granted, it was a rattletrap old Plymouth but it was miles better than the subway.

“You can’t go back to your apartment. Since they know where you live it wouldn’t be safe.”

Anne let her head fall back against the seat. She heaved a sigh that started all the way down in her toes. She couldn’t make any more decisions. “Where are we to go?”

“We’ll sneak you into my apartment.”

Anne cracked open a single eye. “Doesn’t the secret service have some sort of safe house or something?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what? We don’t rate?”

Erik pretended to focus on the nearly non-existent traffic. “No, it has nothing to do with you.”

Anne shook her head. She was too tired to try to work out what he meant.

He cleared his throat. “It’s me. I’m, um, relatively new to the agency. So I don’t have much—any clout.”

She narrowed her eyes. So that was why he hadn’t pushed her harder. “You’ve been investigating this all on your own, haven’t you?”

The furious flush that seared his cheekbones was all the answer she needed.

“How did you swing the apartment?”

The tiniest grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m new to the city. I had to find someplace to live.”

At the back of her mind, the sense that she ought to be put out with him pricked her, but she couldn’t summon the energy for an argument. At least not that one.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 18

2009-05-05T04:44:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

The brick and concrete canyon of the street ricocheted the sound of their pounding feet back at them. Anne stumbled, too busy trying to glance over her shoulder. At the most they had two or three minutes head start.

Steadying herself with a snatch at a stoop railing, she managed to stay on her feet. They needed people, light, noise, some sort of shield against recapture. Were there no nightowls in East Orange? Not a single light shone in any of the windows that lined the street. Should they try to rouse someone? How long would it take them to get to the door? Screaming might draw all the wrong kinds of attention and no help.

In front of her, Jilly staggered and sprawled. The heel of her shoe stayed planted in a crack in the sidewalk.

Anne knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

Jilly winced and sat up, one hand rubbing her ankle. Anne truned as she caught the wash of light down the street as a door opened. Their time was up.

“Come on, kiddo. We’ve got to get going.” With Jilly’s arm around her neck she hauled her friend up.

Her frantic gaze found not so much as an alley between the block of row houses. They weren’t far from the corner. If they could just get out of sight they might have a chance to hide. There was no chance they could outrun Van Dyke and his minions now.

She was stupid, stupid, stupid. She should never have ditched Erik. What she wouldn’t give to see him right now. IF they got out of this mess, she would go straight to him.

They skittered around the corner. Poor Jilly was hobbling as quickly as she could, her face set in a grim mask of pained determination. Anne scanned the street. There had to be someplace to hide.

A dark narrow alley bordered the back row of the houses. They could dive in there, maybe even double-back the way they had come. Unless of course VanDyke had sent one of his goombas out the back to make sure they hadn’t gone that way.

A narrow stairwell leading to the basement of a butcher’s shop, and half hidden by a conglomeration of trashcans showed itself on the other side of the street.

Behind her heavy feet thumped in big band rhythm, nearer, faster.

She couldn’t waste time dithering. The stairwell would have to do.

“C’mon, Jilly. Just over there.” Anne nodded with a thrust of her chin.

Jilly nodded agreement sweat beading on her forehead. Together they scrambled for the scant cover.

Jilly collapsed on the bottom step, bending until her head touched her knees. Fingers kneading her ankle as her shoulder shuddered with silent sobs.

Anne stood and peered through a gap between trashcans. The Guide and Handsome stood at the corner, heads swiveling in either direction.

The mutter of a car engine up the road hit Anne’s ears. The beam of a pair of headlights sliced a gulf between her and the goons. She craned to see the approaching vehicle.

A squad car!

Handsome and The Guide pulled back into the alley opposite.

Anne licked her lips. They could stay put and risk being found and shot, or risk getting shot sooner as they tried to flag down help. Could nothing ever be easy?

Special Edition-Beyond This Moment by Tamera Alexander

2009-05-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

After a devastating mistake, Dr. Molly Whitcomb, professor of Romance Languages at Franklin College, is forced from the only life she's ever aspired to. Packing up her pride along with her beloved books, she leaves to teach school in Timber Falls, a little town in the heart of the Colorado Rockies. There she meets Sheriff James McPherson who shows her the beauty to be found in her new lifestyle. Everything begins to unravel as the web of deception she has used to protect herself begins to fray. My biggest complaint about the book is that it ended too soon. I simply wasn't ready to let go of Molly and James.

Ms. Alexander is a master of her craft. She keeps you flipping the pages avidly, even when you're not certain you want to know what happens next. Definitely Recommended.

You can easily find it at Christianbooks.com or Amazon, or in brick and mortar stores such as Barnes and Noble. I know you will enjoy it as much as I did.

Girl Sleuth-Chapter 17

2009-04-28T06:34:00.000-07:00

(To read from the beginning go Here.)

Whatever they did, they were going to have to be fast about it. Van Dyke and his minions had allowed them to see their faces, and if she knew anything from reading pulp fiction, it was that the crooks only let you see their faces if they meant to kill you.

“Of course!” Lacey Carew to the rescue.

“What is it?”

“Did you read the Lacey Carew books when you were growing up?”

“Yeah, so?”

“In The Mask of the Monkey Clan, she’s locked in a closet, but she escapes.”

“Okay?” Jilly was obviously beginning to question her sanity.

“Help me pull down the clothes rod. We’ll use it as a crow bar to pop the hinges and we’ll be out in a jiffy.”

They both stood and tugged on the rod, with no success. Anne gritted her teeth. This had to work. “Okay, we’ll do it together. Use all your weight, on three.”

“You got it.”

“One, two, three.” Anne jumped, pulling her legs up and hanging from the rod as if it were jungle bars and she were ten again.

The rod groaned and something splintered. An instant later, Anne was dumped in a heap as it came crashing down. The rod smacked her in the nose bringing tears to her eyes.

It didn’t matter. They’d done it!

Beside her she could feel Jilly scrambling to stand.

Anne felt her nose tenderly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good, kiddo. What about you?”

“Hunky-dory.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. “What’s the racket? You two try pull any stunts and I’ll pop you here and now.”

Anne scrambled to her feet. Breathless she snatched the clothes rod and shoved it behind her back. Lord, don’t let him notice it was gone.

The closet door was flung open and she blinked. The guide seemed to have grown in the twenty minutes she had been in the closet.

Jilly half-stepped in front of Anne. “Sorry, I got a little woozy and knocked poor Anne over. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Could you bring us something?” She sounded pitiful, and even managed to look wobbly as if she might topple over again at any minute.

He sighed. “Have a seat then so youse don’t knock the house down around our ears. I’ll see if I can find something.”

He swung the door shut again with enough force that it was just this side of a slam.

Anne leaned forward, ears straining and irrepressible hope springing up like a weed. The lock scraped, putting paid to that notion and she slumped back.

Oh, well. Thank the Lord; they still had the rod.

“Jilly, if that were an audition, you would have earned the lead role for sure.”

“Yeah? Let’s get out of here so I can have the chance to do another audition. You got the rod?”

Together they wedged the end of the rod between the doorjamb and the door, near the bottom hinge. Pushing the bar as if it were a lever they pushed. The wood creaked and groaned its protest at the abuse.

Heart beating in her throat, Anne put a hand on Jilly’s arm. They stopped, listening for any sign that someone had heard them. The seconds ticked by, as if they were part of a funeral procession.

“We better hurry. I would die if he came back with the food I asked for, and caught us trying to escape.” Jilly whispered.

Did she know how true that sentiment might turn out to be? Swallowing hard, Anne nodded, and they set to work in earnest.

It took only five minutes or so of frantic effort, before they had prised the door free of its hinges and then wriggled it free of its frame. Each precious second that passed cost Anne as dearly as if it had been a diamond.

They had to get out.

Anne propped the door back against the opening. Maybe it would take him a few extra seconds to realize they were gone.

They tiptoed from the room, glancing both ways. Anne found her nose twitching as if she were an animal scenting danger.

“What now?” Jilly’s murmur seemed as loud as a gunshot.

It was risky, but the only way out Anne was sure of was the front door. Would it be better to take one big gamble, or waste time trying to find a different way out? “The front door.”

She led the way toward the stairs and hung her head over the banister to make sure no one was coming up. The pounding of her heart in her throat was nearly enough to choke her.

They crept down the stairs, backs against the wall as if they could disappear into the faded floral pattern. Anne’s fingers trembled as they brushed the wall.

The door beckoned to them like a mirage.

Six more steps.

Three more.

One.

She could hear the rumble of male voices in the room she’d been taken to first. Her slick palms slipped on the doorknob as she fumbled to open it. There she had it.

She pulled it open and motioned for Jilly to slip out past her. Just as she pulled the door shut she caught sight of the door at the opposite end of the hall as it swung open and the guide backed out, his hands full of a tray of food.

Whirling, she pelted down the front steps. “Run,” she hissed to Jilly.