tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61916483265789571032024-02-19T02:01:36.580-08:00Inspired AdventuresLisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-55841200263743911142011-09-03T17:27:00.000-07:002011-09-03T17:34:21.392-07:00Two 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--<a href="http://inkwellinspirations.blogspot.com">Inkwell Inspirations</a>. I hope you'll look me up there. <div>
<br /></div><div>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.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Blessings, </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b>Lisa</b></span></div>Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-29211170157290039172011-03-20T04:21:00.000-07:002011-03-20T04:22:08.593-07:00Beloved<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve got some great news. We are!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We just don’t always realize it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Believe it or not, even when it hurts, he loves us. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">He loves you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You are his favorite. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A quote has been floating around for many years. “What would you risk if you knew you could not fail?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-25945780929617222522011-02-15T03:00:00.000-08:002011-02-15T03:00:24.032-08:00Book Recommendation-Lady in the Mist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH_qri1Mru2TqeI987zTRZOXDR8-S7c1PpKbXrExv1XEf87nNeay5zqMcasbWqg18wU4bEfNyU4SwLYyeeMhCfuXZwRHchNzBg8CGRNuxLd4sK2ij1KWQ0_gncEYG2jCwxeDCmSxvSlb3X/s1600/734527_1_ftc.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 204px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH_qri1Mru2TqeI987zTRZOXDR8-S7c1PpKbXrExv1XEf87nNeay5zqMcasbWqg18wU4bEfNyU4SwLYyeeMhCfuXZwRHchNzBg8CGRNuxLd4sK2ij1KWQ0_gncEYG2jCwxeDCmSxvSlb3X/s320/734527_1_ftc.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5570985842370274818" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Siiigh. There’s something so satisfying about reading a good book. It’s like comfort food without the calories. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But meeting Tabitha is just the first of many. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As the pressure mounts for both of them so does the number of missing men. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I highly recommend this story to lovers of historical romance. You can find it at <a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Lady-in-the-Mist/Laurie-Alice-Eakes/e/9780800734527/?itm=2&USRI=lady+in+the+mist">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lady-Mist-Laurie-Alice-Eakes/dp/0800734521/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1297096415&sr=8-1">Amazon</a> or <a href="http://www.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/easy_find?Ntt=lady+in+the+mist&N=0&Ntk=keywords&action=Search&Ne=0&event=ESRCN&nav_search=1&cms=1&search=">ChristianBook.com</a> or at local retailers near you.</p><p class="MsoNormal">You can read an excerpt <a href="http://www.lauriealiceeakes.com/excerpts/ladyinthemist.html">here</a>.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-23922232298549514962011-01-31T05:59:00.001-08:002011-01-31T05:59:51.366-08:00So You Want to be a Writer<div>This video is awesome!</div><div><br /></div><iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/c9fc-crEFDw" frameborder="0"></iframe>Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-64066477175592680412010-09-01T06:13:00.000-07:002010-09-01T06:14:34.887-07:00The Disappearing Diva<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">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!</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:center">The Disappearing Diva</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:center">By Lisa Karon Richardson</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“You’re certain it was Miss Harrington’s voice you heard?” Aurelia asked in her penetrating way.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Aurelia jerked her head once in acknowledgment and bent with her magnifying glass to examine the doorknob to the diva’s dressing room.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Aurelia turned to him with a look that could have scoured brass. “I won’t know until I look, will I.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“No. No I suppose not.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">And yet the fact remained that the opera star had disappeared. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Aurelia tucked her magnifying glass back into its pouch. “Mr. O’Fallon, please tell me what you witnessed.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Didn’t see a thing.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Have you been working on this scenery all evening?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">He sighed. “Mostly.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Then you must have seen something. Was there anything odd?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Everyone around here is odd.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Then tell me everything you saw during the intermission.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“No use. No one even came close to the door but Mr. Durczek.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Were you here when the door was broken in?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Yeah.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Who entered the room first?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">A scarlet flush swept up his neck. “I was taking my break and happened to have a good view.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Balderdash. The intermission is timed for a change of scenery. No stagehand would take a break at such a time.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">His adam’s apple bobbed. “I—“</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Be very careful what you say, Mr. O’Fallon.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">His shoulders slumped. “Sarah and I were going to marry before <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">he</i> came along.” He cast a venomous glare at the Viscount.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">For once he straightened nearly all the way up. “No, Mother. My fiancée has been abducted. I’m not going anywhere.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Mr. Durczek jerked his thumb toward the little balding fellow and whispered an explanation. “The producer.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“She’s not a chorus girl, Mother.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">O’Fallon, the jilted lover, furrowed his brow and looked Lady Marchmont up and down. “You were here for the show.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">The ugly red tide returned to O’Fallon’s features. “No, I mean you were here. Backstage.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Don’t be silly.” She looked at each of the people in the gathering crowd as if waiting for someone to vouchsafe her denial.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Aurelia stepped toward her. “Others will have seen you, Lady Marchmont. The police will prove it easily.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“And who might you be?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Aurelia Peale. I’m investigating this matter.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">The woman shot her a glance designed to melt a person into a quivering jelly. “You would be better employed finding yourself a husband.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Lady Marchmont nearly rolled her eyes in an uncouth manner, but caught herself in time. “I came to talk to the wretched girl.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Miss Harington?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“I thought she could be reasoned with.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Aurelia crossed her arms. “You meant to offer her money if she would break off her engagement with your son.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Yes, Miss Boxer. I’m afraid that without Sarah—”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“But what’s an understudy for if not to sing when the lead is… indisposed?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Are you sure? I—I could stay. I want to find Sarah.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“That’s not necessary. I assure you that I’ll find Miss Harrington. And I don’t believe she’ll have been harmed.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Then she did run off, just as I supposed,” said Lady Marchmont.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:center">***</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">He saw us and whipped off his hat. “Please. Miss Boxer has been hurt.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Let us get our things,” Aurelia said. A moment later we were clambering into the hackney Mr. Durczek had waiting.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“If you will all follow me, for purposes of demonstration I believe this meeting would best be conducted in Miss Harrington’s dressing room.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">It was a tight fit getting us all inside. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Have you discovered how she was removed from here?” asked the viscount.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“No. And for a very simple reason. She wasn’t removed from here. She never entered.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Impossible,” sputtered Mr. Durczek. “I heard her.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Immediately a woman’s voice emerged. “I’ll be right there.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">A gasp went up from everyone, even me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“But how did you know?” asked the viscount.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">sound</i> as if she were in the room.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">Lady Marchmont leaned forward, interested in spite of herself. “How could that contraption have been started at the appropriate moment?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">I shook my head. Once more she’d pulled an answer from the jaws of the impossible. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“But who’s responsible!” Patrick O’Fallon slapped his hat against his knee.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Again it’s a matter of looking at the evidence as it is, and not as we should like it to be.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“I didn’t have a thing to do—”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">O’Fallon nodded.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“How dare you, Miss—”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“But who does that leave?” I asked, unable to leash my curiosity longer.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“P-pardon me?” The little man’s eyes widened.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“I have confidence in the fine officers of Scotland Yard,” he said stiffly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Absurd! Why should I want to ruin my own show?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“An interesting question. Yesterday, Miss Boxer had to argue vehemently <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">against</i> 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?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">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.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">O’Fallon closed in on the hunched figure. “Where is she?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“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.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in">“Instead, the curtain is coming down on your plotting for good.” Aurelia adjusted her hat. “Come Ilene, I believe our work here is finished.”</p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-85963990858855545232010-03-11T08:06:00.000-08:002010-03-11T08:08:23.165-08:00Review-Face of Betrayal by Lis Wiehl with April HenryKatie 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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I received a copy of this book from the publisher for the purpose of review.</span>Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-41310672094205232992010-01-31T03:00:00.000-08:002010-01-31T03:00:00.722-08:00The Pastor's Wife by Jennifer AlLee<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There are</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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. </span></span></i></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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. </span></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.<br /></span></span></i></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEoGx-1aHLVL_J7I-uMtEUnvJW688as-Ba4-RE6E5BTws1srBolSSHEbZVuofm9k4jcakJATcZxAFhT9Mni_C7HHGNws1MmuPrypnRRRJKAD2iNJU2Whyphenhyphenja41bZGZiIvkjdO9jtIoPEeKI/s400/The+Pastors+Wife+Cover.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432002879122869762" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Blurb:<br /></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">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.<br /></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">You can order The Pastor's Wife through </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pastors-Wife-Jennifer-Allee/dp/1426702256/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1262215416&sr=8-2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Amazon</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, </span><a href="http://www.cokesbury.com/forms/ProductDetail.aspx?pid=815073"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Cokesbury</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, and </span><a href="http://www.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/easy_find?Ntk=keywords&Ntt=Jennifer+AlLee&action=Search&N=0&Ne=0&event=ESRCN&nav_search=1&cms=1&Go.x=2&Go.y=13"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Christianbook.com</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> or at a brick and mortar bookstores near you.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px;font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div>Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-57719711836273645542010-01-13T04:03:00.000-08:002010-01-13T04:11:43.497-08:00Queen Elizabeth's Fantasy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9dUSyXNnczwKHBXrSsKDJ1JDCvKpt-sjQGW-Va1uWnJDEgGqD5YJm-Vsng41mZ1UhDcpeQGuXS5_IdP_2VpByAX1XvTixUbNdoQrXoYmny_pht7wcBwLocZ-2fNM6FeyC5laSsVRmO-pm/s1600-h/mary_queen_of_scots_.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9dUSyXNnczwKHBXrSsKDJ1JDCvKpt-sjQGW-Va1uWnJDEgGqD5YJm-Vsng41mZ1UhDcpeQGuXS5_IdP_2VpByAX1XvTixUbNdoQrXoYmny_pht7wcBwLocZ-2fNM6FeyC5laSsVRmO-pm/s320/mary_queen_of_scots_.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426195576844698002" /></a><br />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.<br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">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.</p> <img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX6WopoiOCuUBwghDeYZifFQgoR-jtGX4HFHCsB2w-JhVbWg-fUCkAgla4qL895DzfjdnqpjSoxLPS3Aam0_-LoxSh2wWG8DPxQafbnZi02Dm1JRgKeakP4R4Y1BulI_ZGIZQZjhdzM2nG/s320/elizabeth.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426194587381122002" /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt">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.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-32108699197797529652010-01-05T04:40:00.000-08:002010-01-05T04:57:23.565-08:00Did you hear about the Jacksons?<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Why is it that we tend to think of history as decorous and well-mannered? I guess politics has always been an ugly business.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-48289569566964374112009-12-21T20:39:00.000-08:002009-12-21T20:41:30.073-08:00A Christmas Carol<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Is there any hope that we could still suck some meaning from the marrow of this story? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Does our attitude reflect miserly Scrooge, sorrowful Marley, compassionate Bob Cratchit or even the cheerful, forgiving nephew.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Do you keep Christmas in your heart? What does that even mean? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the immortal words of Tiny Tim. “God Bless us every one.” </p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-85565159413050999412009-12-14T19:11:00.000-08:002009-12-14T19:12:32.697-08:00Betsy Bonaparte<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Did you know that Napoleon Bonaparte had American relations? It’s true.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-69216088121040652702009-12-02T05:23:00.000-08:002009-12-02T05:29:27.591-08:00Wrap-up<div>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!</div><div><br /></div>NOW, I'd really love to get some feedback from you all. Did you like the format? The story?<div><br /></div><div>What can I do better or at least differently? </div><div><br /></div><div>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?</div>Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-50928120167808350572009-11-23T19:04:00.000-08:002011-09-03T19:03:17.819-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 45<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her gullet like fish bones. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Erik waited politely for her to speak. Instead, she shook her head and feigned a cough. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“You okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >She nodded weakly. “Fine. Just tired. I’ll see you later, okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >He snatched his hat from the table and jumped to his feet. “Yeah. Of course. Sorry, I should’ve remembered.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne gasped. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >At last he pulled away a few inches. “Can I see you tomorrow?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“And maybe the day after that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Mm hmm.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“And the one after that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne tore her gaze from dreamy contemplation of his Adam’s Apple to his eyes. “Okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >His lips caressed her temple. “Good night.” In an instant he was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">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.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; "> </span></span><!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-52896460334499311252009-11-17T04:38:00.000-08:002011-09-03T19:02:16.962-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 44<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Absolutely.” Anne perked up a bit. “Just let me brew some coffee first.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Erik glanced over at her and grinned. “If anyone deserves some rest, it’s you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“I warn you once the tale is told I intend to sleep for at least a week.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Then you’ll be happy to know that one of the fellas rousted your super and a carpenter and your door is fixed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Would you believe I completely forgot about the break-in?” She shook her head at herself.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Well you’ve had other things on your mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“So what did Armstrong and you boss tell you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne fumbled for her keys, but Erik handed her a different set. “New door.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >She glanced over her shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind it black.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“The blacker the better.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“So why did they kill Carol, and what was it about those papers that made them so desperate to get them back?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Wow, so the fakes would have been almost impossible to tell from the real thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Mostly over. We’ll need you to testify.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Sort of.” His voice came out in a croak. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“You were looking through my stuff weren’t you? I distinctly remember thinking things had been moved around.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >He spread his hands. “It didn’t take long to mark you off my suspects list.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">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.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-10330368375700110082009-11-09T19:13:00.000-08:002011-09-03T19:01:18.627-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 43<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >The semi darkness of the large office seemed to close in around them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Thank you. You saved my life.” He held a hand out to her and pulled her to her feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >At their feet, Erik’s boss groaned and Anne jerked back. “Maybe we better get some—”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Yeah.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Yeah. Let’s get this put to bed.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Anne?” A warm hand rested on her shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >She jerked upright. “Huh? What?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Hey, lets get you home,” Erik said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne covered her mouth to hide an enormous yawn. “Oh, okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">The car dipped to the left as Erik slid behind the wheel. “You want to know what we learned?”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-44880505681367635132009-11-02T18:36:00.000-08:002011-09-03T19:00:31.722-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 42<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Dear Lord, help me. Help me!<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" ><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“But it’ll be so much fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“You can’t hate me that much.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“So why not just go? Why are you still hanging around the office?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“More likely a bullet to eat,” Erik said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Why don’t you just kill me now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne was only a few feet behind the man as he raised his gun.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Hey! You looking for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >A hand touched her shoulder. “Hey, you okay?” Erik’s voice was as warm and sweet as a biscuit dripping with honey.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Her head felt as if it were a granite boulder but she managed to raise it and meet his eyes. “I’m okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">“I’m going to go get some help from the guys downstairs. Will you be okay here or do you want to come?”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-48497245706120477222009-10-27T04:52:00.000-07:002011-09-03T18:59:22.100-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 41<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“So where is she?” Faux bonhomie rang in his voice, the forced joviality booming and out of place in the other wise silent office. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“I didn’t authorize a wire.” The brash amiability slipped a little. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Twelve more feet.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“So you caught Anderson?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“I disagree.” Erik’s quiet response had the directness of a challenge. It hovered in the air between them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne’s fingers brushed the cold steel of the doorframe and she groped for the knob.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“How long do you think it’ll be before the girl gets back?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Erik jerked his head her direction. “Why don’t I go check on her?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“No, no. You just stay here with me. I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“I ought to go check that Anderson has arrived.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Nah. It can wait. I want to hear more about this hair-brained communist theory of yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne twisted the knob slowly, so slowly. She couldn’t make a sound.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Erik’s voice had grown impatient. “It may be even worse than that. I believe there is a traitor in this office.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Whispering a prayer that the door wouldn’t squeak, Anne eased it open.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“You don’t say.” The wry tone made her shiver in a way that angry never could have. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >She glanced back just in time to see Erik make a move for his weapon.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">“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.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-85743803292775588462009-10-19T18:10:00.000-07:002011-09-03T18:58:43.918-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 40<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“They’re gone!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“What?” She asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Carol’s papers are gone. I put them in the office safe this afternoon, but they’re gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“What does that mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne grabbed his hand and looked directly into his eyes. She lowered her voice. “Where are the other men with Armstrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“The floor below this one. We have a small holding cell there, at least until the FBI comes for him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >They turned toward the main door. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“What’s going on?” he hissed from one side of his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >She glanced over her shoulder to see him reaching to grip the gun in his shoulder holster. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Ah, ah, ah. Let’s not jump the proverbial gun, shall we Special Agent Carter.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">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.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-2028928726499628042009-10-12T19:37:00.000-07:002011-09-03T18:57:57.470-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 39<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“But you look ready to fall over.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >She didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, she placed her hand on his arm. “Please. I’d feel much better.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Sorry.” Sheepishly she covered a yawn. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“No need.” His smile sent a caramel sweet spiral through her belly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >She sat upright but a moment later her eyes started to drift closed again. Her head bobbed forward and she jerked upright.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">“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?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-53599025968140401542009-10-05T18:36:00.000-07:002011-09-03T18:57:09.244-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 38<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:100%;">(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Nice try, Sweetpea.” A rough shove and she tumbled onto the tracks below. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >The train rumbled closer. A bellowing, blinding blur of light and steel. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >It couldn’t be though. Their business wasn’t finished. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >When she at last spoke, the words came out sounding very small and distant. “Where’s Armstrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Do you want to go to the hospital? Your legs look pretty torn up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Erik stood and held out his hands to her. “Let me at least help you up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">“I’ll take him to our office and then begin interrogations.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-59400595461705099392009-09-29T04:53:00.000-07:002011-09-03T18:56:18.073-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 37<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height: 200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" ><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>He jerked her closer. “Is that what Tom told you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Well aren’t you smart. Too bad it’s going to get you killed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“So you admit it? All of it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Same thing I’m going to do to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“But don’t you need him to complete the plates?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“You just know too much don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“I told you I know. And I told the secret service too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Well then, I guess they won’t need your testimony.” He dragged her toward the tracks. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“Where are you taking me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“No where, sweetheart. This is the end of the line for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">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.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-69482678467364734822009-09-22T04:53:00.000-07:002011-09-03T18:55:34.608-07:00Girl Sleuth-Chapter 36<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >(To read from the beginning go <a href="http://lisakaronrichardson.blogspot.com/2008/12/girl-sleuth-chapter-1.html">Here</a>.)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Jesus.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" ><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>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.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >Anne massaged her cheeks. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >He nudged her with the barrel of his ugly little gun. “Come on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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—”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >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. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >“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.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in;line-height:200%;mso-pagination:none"><span style="mso-bidi-line-height:200%;font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">“Tom.” The single word was so loaded with loathing that it carried the weight of an emotional atom bomb.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:7;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-3329155789381591872009-09-15T06:21:00.000-07:002009-09-15T06:30:03.870-07:00Bon Voyage to me!Ladies and Gent,<div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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?</div>Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-24190983980616301042009-09-11T07:06:00.001-07:002009-09-11T07:09:41.242-07:00Huge Book Signing!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.<br /><br />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:<br /><br />Carolyne Aarsen <br />Diane Ashley <br />Ruth Axtell Morren<br />Rick Barry <br />Christina Berry <br />Lauralee Bliss <br />Diana Brandmeyer <br />Sandra Bricker <br />Margaret Brownley <br />Candace Calvert <br />Robin Caroll <br />Jeanie Smith Cash <br />Colleen Coble <br />Brandilyn Collins <br />Mary Connealy <br />Shirley Connolly <br />Margaret Daley <br />Susan Page Davis <br />Mary Davis <br />Janet Dean <br />Megan DiMaria <br />Lena Nelson Dooley<br />Wanda Dyson <br />Leanna Ellis <br />Pamela Ewen <br />Miralee Ferrell <br />Linda Ford <br />Tina Ann Forkner <br />Judy Gann <br />Jeff Gerke <br />Rhonda Gibson <br />Debby Giusti <br />Sandra Glahn <br />Elizabeth Goddard <br />Winnie Griggs <br />Cathy Marie Hake <br />Lisa Harris <br />Mary Hawkins <br />Roxanne Henke <br />Cynthia Hickey <br />Patti Hill <br />Denise Hunter <br />Annette Irby <br />Myra Johnson <br />Liz Johnson <br />Jenny Jones <br />Eileen Key <br />LAURIE Kingery <br />Kathleen Kovach <br />Harry Kraus <br />Jeanne Marie Leach<br />Tosca Lee <br />Julie Lessman <br />Loree Lough <br />Elizabeth Ludwig <br />Richard Mabry <br />Debbie Macomber <br />Joyce Magnin <br />Gail Gaymer Martin<br />Judy/Jude Martin-Urban/Urbanski<br />Debby Mayne <br />Aaron McCarver <br />Vickie McDonough <br />Dana Mentink <br />Robin Miller writing as Robin Caroll<br />DiAnn Mills <br />Stephanie Morrill <br />Janelle Mowery <br />Jill Elizabeth Nelson<br />Kevin Parsons <br />Golden Keyes Parsons<br />Donita K. Paul <br />Tracie Peterson <br />Allie Pleiter <br />Cara Putman <br />Tara Randel <br />Deborah Raney <br />Sandra Robbins <br />Kim Sawyer <br />Marc Schooley <br />Michael Sheehan <br />Shelley Shepard Gray<br />Ann Shorey <br />Beth Shriver <br />Sandra Lee Smith <br />Virginia Smith <br />Betsy St. Amant <br />Therese Stenzel <br />Stuart Stockton <br />Alison Strobel <br />Michelle Sutton <br />Camy Tang <br />Donn Taylor <br />Janice (Hanna) Thompson<br />Missy Tippens <br />Pamela Tracy <br />Carrie Turansky <br />Deborah Vogts <br />Jenness Walker <br />Dan Walsh <br />Susan May Warren <br />Michael Webb <br />Kit Wilkinson <br />Lisa Wingate <br />Beth Wiseman <br />Kimberley Woodhouse<br />Lenora Worth <br />Cheryl Wyatt <br />Kathleen Y'BarboLisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6191648326578957103.post-26600623508796901852009-09-09T04:43:00.000-07:002009-09-09T04:53:25.020-07:00ACFW Conference Coming!<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 21pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">"The Premier Christian Fiction Conference"</span></i></b></span><span style="font-family:ArialMT;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><b></b></span></span></p><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0.25in; text-align: center; line-height: normal; "><span style=" ;font-family:ArialMT;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">STANDING FIRM...MOVING FORWARD</span></b></span></p><p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal; "><span style=" ;font-family:ArialMT;"><b>"<i>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.</i></b></span><span style=" ;font-family:ArialMT;"><b>"</b></span><span style=" ;font-family:ArialMT;"> 1 Corinthians 15:58 (KJV)</span></p><p align="center" style="text-align: center; line-height: normal; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background- background-position: initial initial; color:white;"><span style=" ;font-family:ArialMT;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">DENVER, COLORADO SEPTEMBER 17 - 20, 2009</span></b></span><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';"></span></p><p style="line-height: normal; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background- background-position: initial initial; color:white;"><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';"> </span></p><p style="line-height: normal; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background- background-position: initial initial;"><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';">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.</span></p><p style="line-height: normal; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background- background-position: initial initial;"><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';">This year’s conference theme , <i>Standing Firm…Moving Forward,</i></span><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';"> will especially inspire the full range of talent and dreams in the ever-changing publishing world today.</span><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;"></span></p><p style="line-height: normal; background-image: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-attachment: initial; -webkit-background-clip: initial; -webkit-background-origin: initial; background- background-position: initial initial;"><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';">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.</span><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;"></span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';">The keynote speaker is <i>New York Times</i></span><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';"> bestselling author, Debbie Macomber, who has more than 100 million copies of her books in print worldwide.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; "><span style=" ;font-family:'Book Antiqua';">Learn more about the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Conference by visiting <a href="http://www.acfw.com/" target="_blank">www.acfw.com</a>. Click on the left sidebar on Annual Conference.</span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Book Antiqua', serif;"><br /></span></div></span>Lisa Karon Richardsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02175430876079208723noreply@blogger.com3