29 February 2020

Path of the Spirit Runner by L.H.Leonard



Rootstock Saga, Book 2
Epic Fantasy
Date Published: February 29, 2020
Publisher: Each Voice Publishing

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Gifted or cursed? Isobel is a healer, and the Hawks who accepted her, broken and different as she was, need her help. But she must hide the truth behind her healing power. She is an empath.

John Deighton, The Prophet, is back in Innis and stoking the embers of bigotry and superstition, scouring the realm and imprisoning mindgifted Aurels. When he corners Isobel, will she fight back or succumb to her old fears and lingering scars of the Beast of Monaughty? Will she answer the call of a healer if it costs her everything she loves?

Far across the sea, Tobias Buchanan is racing against time to build New Rhynn as a haven for his clan. As the noose of oppression squeezes tighter in Innis, the Hawks may soon be forced to choose between their homeland and their way of life. Can he earn a place for his Hawks amongst the Este of Tallu? Can he prove Rhynns are worthy of their trust?

Meanwhile, the Este are discovering their own place in the Awakening and the Joining. Spirit runners grow more powerful by the year, and the Mists hover closer over Tallu. But will it be enough when the water rises? Will they be ready before the cycle ends?

Path of the Spirit Runner is the enthralling continuation of the Rootstock Saga. Evolution and oppression. Magical mindgifts and dragon science. The characters you loved in Legend of the Storm Hawks come of age and weave their own threads in the Patterns.

Other Books in the Rootstock Saga Series:


Legend of the Storm Hawks
Rootstock Saga, Book 1
Publisher: Each Voice Publishing
Published: January 2020

Someday soon, your world will end. Ending is not as final as it sounds. Our world has ended before. When it does, be patient. Those of your time will linger and watch new cycles unfold. Some will walk this spinning blue rock again. A few will shape its destiny.

Get lost in the story. The richly detailed fantasy adventure you've been looking for is here. Stunning world-building. Sweeping cast of unforgettable characters. A riveting saga of the magic evolving in us all. Perfect for fans of George R. R. Martin, Brent Weeks, and Brandon Sanderson.

Legend of the Storm Hawks introduces the Rootstock Saga, four novels all due to release in 2020. Not a light read, this is serious fantasy for serious fantasy fans. Set on a future Earth, our own history echoes from the shadows. Adversity awakens gifts in this tale of evolution and survival. Science meets fantasy in a burgeoning of psychic and psionic power, and the mindgifted struggle with bigotry, abuse, theocracy, gender roles, climate change, and the temptations of power and privilege. Their intricately interwoven POV voices and plots converge in a long, rewarding end game.

A master player convinces the pawn the move is its own. Nigel has been at the game longer than most, but lately the pawns keep turning into rogue knights. It’s damned inconvenient of them, considering the world is about to end again.

The Watchers will soon declare this cycle over, as they have so many cycles before, shrugging off yet another rise and fall of humankind, and giving the dragons another turn at dominion.

Brynmohr is King of the Firstborn, and Twelvestones is the last bastion of a once-mighty nene dynasty. As the first people to walk the earth, the Firstborn consider it their birthright to rule over mankind. Half-breeds between their kinds are always sterile, but the daughters born of Brynmohr’s irrational affection for a woman are defying the Patterns.

Sethlyan and Isobel are unaware they’re expendable pawns in an increasingly complex game. Seth is the second son of the Second of Aleron. He’s tired of hearing rumors he and his friends are the prophesied Storm Hawks, destined to free Rhynn from centuries of oppression. He knows better. So does the Other, the voice only he can hear.

Isobel survived the Beast of Monaughty. Her father is dead, but his brutality haunts her. When her brother, the Rhi’Iverach, forges an alliance with the Hawks of Aleron, Isobel finds herself promised to a stranger named Sethlyan.

Her trust is hard to earn. His is hard to give.

A deadly attack leaves them with a telepathic bond neither wants, and awakens mindgifts they struggle to accept. When rebellion brings Nigel and his charges to the precipice of war, they must choose between hiding their secrets or wielding their power, fighting their oppressors or sacrificing freedom for peace.

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About the Author


L.H. Leonard writes epic fantasy because she prefers imaginary worlds to dysfunctional real ones. She's been a technologist (computer geek and manager thereof) in the financial and media industries for most of her career, and sidelines as micro-publisher Each Voice Publishing. When getting paid doesn't matter, she's an animal rescuer, artist, almost-master gardener, and a surprisingly good cook.

She and her husband live happily ever after in Georgia, where their forever home is a short trek from the Chattahoochee River through woods filled with deer, coyotes, owls, the occasional bear, and of course, hawks.

Their progeny are creative individualists, the eldest of whom has given them a small tribe of grandchildren. They're the real Children of Promise.


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27 February 2020

The Rescuer by Kari Vennstra



The Krador Kronicles
YA Science Fiction
Published Date: February  27, 2020
Publisher: INtense Publications LLC

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Prok Zandin has two chances to qualify for advanced cadet training and he just lost one.

Stuck at the bottom of the class system on the underwater planet Krador, fifteen-year-old Prok needs this training to become a Sea Warrior, a position with automatic social advancement into Krador’s upper class plus a hefty paycheck to fund his disabled sister’s medical procedure.

Prok is determined to win his final qualification fight until his best friend Makky disappears. With time running out for both his future and his friend, Prok embarks on a dangerous deep-sea rescue and discovers Makky’s life isn’t the only thing at stake. It’s up to Prok to prevent disaster, but action will cost and the price may be everything.





 About the Author

KARI VEENSTRA grew up climbing trees in the remote jungles of Papua New Guinea until the day she stuffed all her belongings in a suitcase and traveled to America for college. In the process of studying to become a crack defense attorney, Kari discovered writing was her true passion. This led to a journalism internship and a career in copywriting until Kari switched to writing fiction so she could spend more time with her family. Kari now lives in the deserts of El Paso, Texas, with her husband and two children, and is always on the lookout for a good tree to climb. To connect with Kari online, visit www.kariveenstra.com.

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Facebook: @kariveenstra.author
Twitter: @KariVeenstra_

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26 February 2020

Try Not to Die: In Brightside by Mark Tullius & Dawna Gonzales



Suspense
Release Date: February 18, 2020
Publisher: Vincere Press

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More than two dozen ways to die.

Just one correct path.

Do you have what it takes to survive?

Brightside is a beautiful mountain town blanketed by snow. Towering fences create a stark contrast to the serenity that appears on the surface. Your only crime is telepathy, yet your stay here is permanent. Your fate has been determined by society's fears.

The outlook is bleak unless you manage to become part of the escape that’s about to go down.

Watch your back, choose wisely, and be careful who you trust.

Good luck getting out of Brightside in this interactive novel.



About the Author


Mark Tullius is the author of Ain't No Messiah, Twisted Reunion, 25 Perfect Days and more. He also writes nonfiction based on MMA and traumatic brain injuries.


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25 February 2020

Defeat of the Wicked Iniquitous by William Curtis Woolf


An Inspired Epic Thesis and Political-Economic Thriller
Published: December 2019

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Defeat of the Wicked Iniquitous is a fictionalized illustration of the new Middle-Class Capitalism Economic System and the Independent People’s Global Enterprise. It is written and designed for reality, to non-violently revolutionize working and poor people’s own independent economic power, to build a prosperous, just, safe, clean, beautiful and peaceful new world.In the great Revolutionary War of Economic Independence, the Neo-Caps (the New Capitalists) are ferocious non-violent capitalist warriors. They are the People, the students and working-class owners, worldwide, of the Independent People's Global Enterprise. Together they crush the crony capitalist oligarchs, and the evil Trill Empire, forever. And the People rule the world !!!!






Excerpt

The Independent People’s Global Enterprise


July 4 of the year 2030. The new capitalists or Neo-Caps, as they are called, celebrate all around the world in the most spectacular celebrations ever seen. Together they won the Great Revolutionary World War of Economic Independence. The Neo-Caps crushed crony capitalist plutocrats across the globe and now democratically control the global economy and their respective governments.

The Neo-Caps are the owners of the Independent People's Global Enterprise, larger than all the remaining giant corporations in the world combined. Neo-Caps independently control their own retail markets. The People's Enterprise defeated most of the largest retail corporations throughout the world in a very brutal economic war of capitalism, a battle that started on July 4, 2020, with the worldwide Declaration of Economic Independence.  

The People became the new capitalists, officially incorporating their own powerful Independent People’s Global Enterprise. Through a decade of capitalist "warfare" they beat the retail crony capitalists at their own game. Together, all Neo-Caps are owners of the largest and most powerful corporations in the world. They have more influence over their governments than all former crony plutocrats combined.

As the new rich, the Neo-Caps have the power and systemic resolve to provide lasting prosperity, which in turn gives rise to justice and world peace. It's a beautiful new world. The question is: How in the world did the People, the Neo-Caps, do it? 



A Trill Island Surprise



The year was 2022. The Honored Guest couldn’t believe his good fortune. He was finally arriving at Trill Island, a place he could only imagine before and had always wanted to visit. He’d been briefed that his coming and going would be conducted with the utmost of discretion, and that is why his bodyguards had been instructed to stand down for the day. It all worked out very smoothly.

The Guest watched in wonder as the cloaked island appeared and its waterfall entrance parted to let his chopper into the Trill Island landing pad. What a wonder of technology! He disembarked and was immediately escorted to the dining area where all the Trills were assembled around a long table. The Guest was seated and took a quick head count, assessed who was among them and noted a few surprising faces. Since he surely had been invited to become one of them, he would be Number 14. The Guest thrilled at the thought, with goosebumps running up and down his spine.

The thirteen Trills had apparently just finished a lavish feast; servers were clearing plates and refreshing wine glasses, and not one offered him a dish. Odd . . . Ah, here it comes. He was served a layered chocolate concoction and a glass of bubbling spring water. As he ate a few luscious bites and drank a few sips, the Trill to his right began to speak in a loud and decisive tone: “You’ve been invited here today as our guest of honor. Welcome.”

The chocolate mousse thing was really delicious, and the Guest could feel each heavenly bite on his palate. He felt warmed by its yumminess. The Trill continued: “We are well aware of your recent and past financial losses. Your many foul schemes have taken a major toll on our own positions, exposing many of us to losses beyond any measure we’ve ever before endured.”

Was he hearing this correctly? It almost sounded like he was being reprimanded. And Jeez Louise, was he ever feeling a warming sensation! He stopped eating, took a large gulp of his spring water, and looked more directly at the speaker, who paused at length before he continued: “Because of your errors of judgment and flagrant disregard for those who made it possible for you to attain your positions of power, both in government and personal wealth, we sentence you to a sacrificial event on the sacred Trill altar. Follow me!”

The Guest did his best to respond to the speaker, but no sounds came out of his slack-jawed mouth. Nor could he even stand on his own feet. But it needn’t have worried him, as he was aided to do so by two well-muscled manservants who stepped forward and took him from his place at the table, one holding each arm. . .



About the Author

Born in 1948, Curt is the oldest of seven children. He lived in Japan where his father was stationed during the Korean War. He then lived in Carlsbad, NM, and later in Dallas, Texas, where he witnessed the shooting death of President John F. Kennedy .

Curt served in the US Army Dental Corps, after which he worked as a pipe fitter and welder.

Curt attended NMSU, graduating with Honors in 1975, with a BA in Government & Political Science. He then earned a Masters Degree in Public Administration and Management, again graduating with Honors.

He and his wife had three children and later divorced.

Curt held the position of City Planner and Zoning Administrator for Las Cruces, NM; he was the Assistant City Manager for Alamogordo, NM; he served as the Chaves County Manager, Roswell, NM; he became the CAO of the New Mexico Transportation Department, managing a $2 Billion annual budget.

In 2000 he retired from New Mexico State government. Curt then co-founded and developed KidsKare PC Family Dentistry, working as CAO. KidsKare is one of the largest New Mexico networks of dental clinics.

For over a decade, since the 2008 economic collapse, Curt worked passionately on developing the concept of Middle-Class Capitalism, a sound strategy for creating greater wealth and self-sufficiency among all economic classes, utilizing the capitalist tools of trade already at our disposal.

Quoting Curt: "By following the carefully constructed wealth-building methods outlined in this book and on my website, we will demonstrate to the world how all seven billion humans can live sustainably and responsibly as owners of our own international corporations and businesses, large and small."


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24 February 2020

Anne by Zarina Macha



YA Coming-of-age
Published: June 2019

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Anne Mason has a storybook childhood.

A wealthy father, loving mother, and a beautiful home in Richmond.

But behind the polished windows, Anne’s father brutally terrorizes her mother.

Sent to live with her aunt and uncle, Anne enrolls in boarding school. Though she thrives, the traumas of her past gnaw at her insides.

Will hope and inner strength prevail?




Excerpt

Picture this. A room with two cosy armchairs and a brown wooden table resting between them holding a small clock, tissues, and minuscule pieces of Celebrations chocolate. The temperature was not cold, and not hot, but that perfect warmth you get from adjusting both the window and radiator heating. In one of the armchairs sat a middle-aged man, bespectacled, foreign — German, perhaps — with a balding patch on his head and weight around his middle. A kind smile spread across his face, his head tilted, garnering the same curiosity as an inquisitive child. In the other chair sat a girl. Fourteen, black hair cane-rolled on top and pulled up into a tight bun. Black hands, black duffel coat, black shoes, black tights. All that shed a silver lining — or a blue one — were the sapphire-crystal earrings hanging from her ears.

The girl was me.

The foreign man peered at the clock. He and the girl had been sitting in the room for forty minutes, the slight utterance of monosyllabic dialogue passing between the two. The girl was staring at the floor, her face expressionless. With only twenty minutes left, the man took his cue to pick up the bowl holding the chocolate and offered one to her. She refused.

“I do like Celebrations,” said the man. “Always a succulent choice.” He was definitely German. “They really melt in the mouth. Maltesers are my personal favourite, though. They're the most popular, aren't they?”

I grunted in response. He sighed; not in exasperation, merely in concern. “I know this is only our second session, but it would be nice to hear a little bit from you.”

I uncrossed my legs. It was amazing how interesting your shoes became when you had nothing to say.

“I'm not trying to force you,” he said gently. “I know this has been difficult for you. You have had a lot to deal with recently, and in the past. But that is why I want you to know we are here for you. When somebody close to you dies, it’s the most horrible thing in the world. That’s why we want to help you get through this challenging time.”

I closed my eyes, raising my head to the ceiling.

“How are you feeling right now?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Anne, you are more than welcome to take your time, but remember, in here, you are safe. No one can hurt you. What we say is confidential, and you can say whatever you like.”

He was right. And yet, the clenching in my stomach wouldn’t stop. It was a reminder that no matter how awful things became, you were still left with the scars.

I spent the remaining twenty minutes in silence. So much had happened in my fourteen years of existence, I was unsure of how to form the words.

That week, I mulled over my previous two sessions and decided I was tired of being a prisoner of my past. I no longer saw the point of keeping myself closed off. Help had been offered to me, so surely now was the time to take it. I could keep the ghosts chained to me, or I could let them be released, freeing myself in the process.

When I returned to Henry — he said I could call him by his first name — that following Tuesday, I was ready to begin telling him everything.




About the Author

Zarina Macha is an author, blogger and musician born and raised in London, UK. She studied Songwriting and Creative Artistry at The Academy of Contemporary Music in Guildford. She regularly writes a social comment blog titled 'The Zarina Macha Blog.' In her spare time she loves reading and fan-girling over "Game of Thrones".
In 2018 she began independently publishing her books through Amazon's Kindle Direct Publishing platform. "Every Last Psycho" and "Anne" are her young-adult fiction novels that deal with mental illness, drug abuse, domestic violence and coming-of-age. "Art is a Waste of Time" and "Single Broke Female" are her two poetry books.

"Around Midnight" is her fifth self-published work. It is a young-adult drama about jazz, ambition, and a toxic relationship.


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22 February 2020

Abigail Waits by Bunny Lee




YA, Middle Grade, Bullying
Published: September 2019
Publisher: BookBaby

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Bullying-the word itself brings negative connotations. It doesn't differentiate race, gender or creed. Boundless with its grip and cruelty, the assistance of the internet leads it slithering through homes, schools, cities and countries. Meet Abigail, a victim of bullying that has hurt her mentally and physically. Hiding in the woods, away from words and hands that can hurt her is her only solace. Hannah, daughter to Cherokee Indian Chief Daniel Littlejohn, is continuing his work , after her father's passing, locating Cherokee that perished deep in a thousand acre tract of woods to reunite them with their ancestors. At midnight is when Hannah enters the woods to be undetected. The forest seems to come alive! Walking by a stream she catches a glimpse of a girl. Hannah calls out and the mysterious girl disappears. "Who is this girl and why is she here?" Running to find her Hannah sees a pair of red eyes glaring in her direction. "Is this what father meant when he warned me about coming in the woods alone? Abigail watches Hannah. "Why does this Cherokee girl beckon me? Does she mean me harm?" Exiting the woods Hannah decides to seek help and assemble a team of trusted friends. Will time run out for the girl by the stream? The author has taken a mystical tale weaved with characters depicted in Indian folklore to spread the message of hope and kindness for anyone that has been a target of cruel behavior. Abigail takes us through the kind of despair where only isolation makes her feel safe. This happens too often in real life. Memorable and heartwarming the authors message is to look beyond someone's nationality, disabilities , gender creed and see the individual for who they are.






About the Author

Bunny Lee was born and raised in Greensboro, North Carolina. She resides in Golconda, Illinois.



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21 February 2020

Deadline by Jessica James


Book 1 Phantom Force Tactical Series
Romantic Suspense
Date Published: April 2016

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"Engaging read. Hard to put down." -- Billy Allmon, U.S. Navy SEAL (Ret)


He’s a relentless homicide detective. She’s an uncompromising journalist.

Neither desires to work together—but they’ll never uncover the truth alone.



Landing a front page headline isn’t why reporter Caitlin Sparks is investigating a string of suspicious deaths connected to the U.S. State Department. She has a personal stake in finding the killer.

Detective Blake Madison has a connection to the murders too, and will risk anything to uncover the truth. But a journalist is the last person he’d rely on to help him solve a crime—especially one whose trail of evidence leads back to him.

Joining forces becomes essential as the body count continues to grow. Someone powerful doesn't want the truth to come out—and will stop at nothing to make sure no one talks.

On the run with nowhere to turn, the couple devises a plan to expose the killer. The risk is great and the chance of success small, but the ultimate outcome is something neither one of them envisioned.


IndieBRAG Medallion Winner



Excerpt


Blake stroked her hair. “It’s okay, baby. Just a nightmare.”

“It seemed so real.” Caitlin felt his arms tighten around her, felt the power in them, and appreciated the comforting peace they provided. She had never felt so exposed, and yet so safe and secure. She turned her head and strained to see into the darkness again. “It felt like he was really here.”

“Dreams have a way of doing that.” He rocked her for a few more minutes in his soothing embrace, and then whispered in her ear. “Better?”

Caitlin took a few more deep breaths, and then tried to draw away, embarrassed. “Yes. I’m all right.” Again, she peered over her shoulder into the darkness to see if the figure would reappear. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Blake did not release his grasp. “Don’t worry. You didn’t wake me.”

Caitlin knew it was useless to struggle so she rested her head against his chest again and tried to relax. Her mind drifted back to a time when she had been intimidated by this man. Now his mere presence was reassuring. His touch, his voice, brought security and a sense of peace.

“That’s better.” He cleared his throat, but it still sounded hoarse when he talked. “I wish you would put the past behind you.”

Caitlin’s breath caught in her throat. That’s what Vince had just told her. She pulled away and regarded Blake with a troubled look. Had Vince been trying to tell her something from the other side that was merely being echoed by Blake? Was it time to move on with her life? Was she ready for that?

She lay her head down again before answering. “I’m not sure I want to yet.”

Blake’s chest rose against her cheek as he sucked in a deep, slow breath, but he didn’t speak and his grasp was unrelenting. She savored the sensation of being held by him with her head against his heart, keenly aware of the solidness of his arms and the warmth of his skin. His embrace was powerful and tender, strong and gentle.

She allowed herself to bask briefly in the peaceful, shared moment, but then feared she was being selfish. He’s probably uncomfortable and wants to go back to bed. “I’m okay,” she murmured into his chest, trying to reassure him. “You can let me go now, Blake.” She opened her eyes when he finally answered.

“I’m not sure I want to yet.”




About the Author


Jessica James’ award-winning novels are inspired by her love of the land, her belief in everlasting love, and her curiosity about the past. Her novels run the gamut from military suspense and thrillers to historical fiction, Christian fiction, and small-town Southern women's fiction.

She enjoys transporting readers to another world with complex characters and stories that stir deep emotion. Her novels appeal to both men and women and are featured in library collections all over the United States including Harvard and the U.S. Naval Academy. She resides in a 200-year-old house in Gettysburg, Pa.

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20 February 2020

Dangerous Ground by Susan Hunter

Dangerous Ground by Susan Hunter Banner

Dangerous Ground

by Susan Hunter

on Tour February 17, 2020 to March 20, 2020

Synopsis:

Dangerous Ground by Susan Hunter
A Murder Among Friends …

Everyone is anxious to connect with actor Ryan Malloy when he returns to town for his 15-year high school reunion. Everyone except crime writer Leah Nash. She doesn’t have many fond memories of Himmel High’s golden boy. But it turns out she’s not the only one who isn’t a fan. Before the weekend is over, Ryan Malloy is murdered.

The hard-headed but soft-hearted Leah is unwillingly drawn into investigating his death by the pleading of Ryan’s terminally ill mother. She soon discovers that Ryan’s self-absorbed journey through life trampled on the dreams of a number of people. His old girlfriend, his best friend, his own brother, a local businessman—there’s no shortage of suspects—or secrets. But the solution eludes Leah, until the past and the present collide in a dangerous confrontation that threatens one life and ends another.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Himmel River Press
Publication Date: November 19, 2019
Number of Pages: 364
ISBN: 1698530994 (9781698530994)
Series: Leah Nash Mysteries, Book 6
Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1
I parked my bike just inside the cemetery gates. It took only a few steps down the tree-lined path for the heat and humidity of a mid-summer Wisconsin day to slide away into the cool dark shade. Overhead, the soft murmur of thousands of leaves stirring in the light breeze accompanied me as I walked slowly toward my sister’s grave. Both of my sisters are buried in the cemetery just a few miles outside of Himmel, Wisconsin. My father is as well. But today it was Annie I’d come to visit.
My heart beat a little faster as I neared the gravesite. I’m not afraid of the dead. It’s the memories they leave behind that haunt me. Quiet Annie with her soft voice and big blue eyes, too shy to join the other laughing, shouting kindergarteners at recess—but the first to run over to comfort a little boy struggling not to cry on the first day. Imaginative Annie, commandeering our wide front porch as a sailing ship for her and her cat, Mr. Peoples, to travel around the world. Kind-hearted Annie, sharing her Halloween candy with me when I’m forced to surrender my own treats as penalty for talking back. Sweet, brave, compassionate, eight-year-old Annie, who ran into a burning house to save Mr. Peoples twenty-two years ago, and never came back.
Over all the years since, people—my mother, my aunt, my therapist (yes, I went that route once), my best friend—have reassured me that her death wasn’t my fault, that I was just a child. But, I was older. I should have been watching over her. I should have seen her slipping back to the house after we’d all escaped. In my deep heart’s core, I can’t ever forget that.
Now and then, and always on her birthday, I go to the cemetery to see her. I know that she isn’t really there. But her grave is an anchoring spot for me. I catch her up on the good, the bad, and the ugly happenings in my life. She knows what hurts me, and she knows what frightens me—secrets I don’t share with anyone else. I tell her what our mother is up to, and how others she knew in life are doing. I say all the things to her that I would if she were still here. I try to make up for the fact that I’m alive, and she isn’t. But, of course, I never can.
When I’m talking to her at the cemetery, it feels as though she can really hear me. And I know that she answers. Not right there, at the grave, but later, in unexpected ways. Sometimes, I hear Annie speak to me through a chance remark a stranger makes, or a phrase that leaps out at me from a book, or a sudden flash of insight on a problem I’m wrestling with. I don’t share that belief with very many people. If I did, I might be forced to resign my membership in the Doubting Thomas Society, to which all good journalists should belong. But I can’t accept that those occurrences are just coincidental. I really can’t.
So, on the anniversary of her birth, once again I sat down on the bench in front of her grave and told her how sorry I was that she had died. That I hadn’t saved her. That I still missed her. And then I told her what was really going on in the seemingly successful life of Leah Nash, former small-town reporter, current true crime author, and soon-to-be business failure.
***
When I say I talk to Annie, I mean that literally. I have a one-sided, out-loud conversation with her, though only when I’m sure I’m alone. Some people already think I’m crazy. No need to give them additional proof. On this particular day, I had a serious problem weighing on my mind.
Not long before, I had made what seemed, at the time, like a brilliant decision. The Himmel Times Weekly, the paper where I’d started out in journalism, and where I’d found a home again after a self-inflicted career injury, was closing. I decided to buy it. I asked a wealthy, community-minded, local attorney, Miller Caldwell, to invest with me. And then I asked a lot of other people—reporters, an editor, stringers, office and sales staff—to work very hard, for very little money, in the hope that together we could keep the Himmel Times alive.
It was exhilarating at first. But it had become an increasing source of anxiety for me. Just as we were getting off the ground, Grantland County Online, a digital-only news site (and I use the term “news” loosely), had gotten a major infusion of capital and a new publisher. Now GO News, as it’s more commonly known, was kicking our butt.
“The scariest thing, Annie,” I said, “is that we’re barely keeping our heads above water, while GO News keeps getting bigger. They don’t have the expenses we do—no print edition, no delivery costs, and they don’t spend a lot of staff time fact-checking. Plus, they started Tea to GO. Did you know that the cool kids say, ‘spill the tea,’ when they mean ‘what’s the gossip?’
Tea to GO is full of ‘What married school official was seen in Milwaukee with a very attractive staff member last Thursday night? Did we say late, last Thursday night?’ That kind of garbage. It’s almost all blind items—the better to avoid lawsuits, my dear. But people are eating it up. Every time you go into the Elite CafĂ©, someone is trying to figure out who the latest gossip is about.”
I paused for a bit of a wallow in self-pity. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried to shake things up at the Times, to get us moving ahead, but so far nothing I’d done had made much difference.
“We have a good team. Miguel is much happier since he gave up the managing editor job. He really didn’t like bossing people. And Maggie McConnell is doing great in that spot. She’s got the instincts, the skills, and forty-five years in the news business behind her. If she could only spin straw out of gold, she’d be perfect. But since she can’t, we’re making do with a budget so lean it might as well be made out of turkey burger.
“I gave Allie Ross—you remember, I told you about her. She’s the high school kid we’ve been using as a stringer. Anyway, I gave her a part-time job for the summer in the office. She’s doing the routine stuff, obits and inside pages copy—weddings, anniversaries, club news. She’s got promise, but she’s only fifteen. Troy, the other reporter besides Miguel, is a little bit of a suck-up—and his news judgment isn’t quite there yet. Still, he’s a hard worker. The stringers are a pretty mixed bag.
“Now, here’s a twist I bet you didn’t see coming. I hired Mom to take April Nelson’s place as office manager. I know, I know, it’s a dicey move. But she’s smart, and efficient, and she gets the job done. Plus, she comes cheap. It’s been a little challenging, I admit. Remember when I used to get mad at her and say, ‘You’re not the boss of me!’ and she’d send me to my room?
“Well, now I’m the boss of her, only I don’t get to send her to her room. Yes, OK, I’m not supposed to be doing the day-to-day. That’s Maggie’s job. I understand that. But I can’t just hide away in my office and write my next book if the paper is falling apart two floors below me, can I?
“Everybody took a leap of faith when we reopened the Times, and everyone is putting everything they have into it. I can’t let them down. I have to find a way to keep us afloat. I just didn’t know it would be so hard, Annie.”
I paused for a breath before I wrapped things up.
“And then there’s Gabe. I don’t know. I like him as well—no, probably better than—anyone I’ve gone out with in a long time. He makes me laugh, and he’s really smart. And he likes strong women who speak their minds. In my experience, a lot of men don’t. So what’s the problem, right? Well, it’s not exactly a problem. It’s more that I’m afraid a problem might be coming. Lately, it feels like he’s pushing me a little, like for a commitment or something. Can’t we just enjoy each other? Can’t we just be without getting all serious, and defining things, and making plans? I don’t want to change things. That’s when things go bad, when you try to change them.”
I slumped back against the bench with a sigh. Usually, when I lay everything out to Annie, it makes the issues seem a little more manageable. This time it all still felt overwhelming.
Then, a voice spoke.
***
Fortunately for my mental health, it wasn’t Annie’s. I turned and looked behind me.
“Coop! How long have you been standing there?” I asked, trying to remember exactly what I’d said out loud. It’s not that Coop and I have major secrets. He’s my best friend, after all. Still, I don’t tell him everything I tell Annie.
“Long enough,” he said with a grin that didn’t offer me much comfort. I tried to move the conversation away from my chat with Annie, particularly the Gabe part.
“What are you doing here?”
“Your mom said you were here. I called your cell, but it didn’t go through.”
“Yeah. It’s a dead zone—pun totally intended—in the cemetery, except for the hill. What did you want?”
“Nothing. I brought something for Annie.”
I looked down at his right hand and saw that he carried a small pot of pink flowers. Pink was Annie’s favorite color. Tears sprang to my eyes. I quickly blinked them away.
“That’s so nice. Why?”
He shrugged. “I know what today is.”
I’m all about keeping my tough outer shell polished, but I was so touched, I couldn’t keep up the facade. “You’re a pretty great friend, you know that?”
He smiled, but he looked embarrassed, and tried to cover it by moving to put the flowers next to Annie’s headstone.
“Did you really come just to put flowers on Annie’s grave?”
“No, not just for Annie. I took some to Rebecca, too.” He was kneeling, positioning the flowers, with his back to me. I couldn’t see his expression.
“Oh.”
Rebecca had been Coop’s wife and my nemesis until she was killed last year. I wasn’t happy that Coop had lost someone he loved, but I couldn’t pretend I was sorry she was gone. She’d done everything she could to break up our twenty-year friendship and came close to succeeding. I couldn’t think of anything nice to say about her. So, I employed the Thumper rule, and didn’t say anything.
Coop apparently didn’t want to get into the subject of Rebecca either, because as he stood and turned to me, he said, “I’ll walk out with you. I’ve got my truck. We can throw your bike in the back and you can ride home with me.”
“Yes, please. I didn’t realize it was so hot. I just about sweated to death pedaling out here.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, taking in my damp, bedraggled hair, slipping from its hair clip, and the beads of moisture coalescing into a river of sweat running down the side of my forehead. “You kind of look like you just took a shower.” He sniffed the air, “Except you don’t have that shower-fresh scent.”
“Shut up,” I said. “I’m a head-sweater from way back. Deal with it.” I smiled though, because there’s something very nice and very easy being with a person who really doesn’t care how you look—or in the present situation—smell.
We walked together in companionable silence, until I’d decided he hadn’t heard any of my one-sided conversation with Annie. That dream died in the next minute.
“So, what’s going on with you and Gabe? He’s a nice guy, Leah. You’re not getting ready to toss him overboard, too, are you?”
“No. Why would you say that? And what do you mean by ‘too’?”
“You really want to go there?” He cocked an eyebrow. It’s a not very funny running joke between Coop and my mother that I always find a reason to cut my romances short.
“No, I don’t. I thought you didn’t believe in illegal surveillance, and what do you call lurking around cemeteries where people are having a private conversation? It’s nothing. Really.”
He looked at me for a second, but all he said was, “OK.”
Our conversation was cut off as a tall woman in her fifties, her hair pulled back and hanging in a long, gray braid down her back, appeared and abruptly crossed the path in front of us.
“Hello, Marcy,” I said.
She looked up as though surprised we were there.
“Leah. Coop.” She nodded but didn’t stop to talk. We knew where she was going. To the top of the hill on which sat a small granite building that resembled an ancient Greek temple. The family mausoleum held Marcy’s grandparents, her own mother, and Marcy’s baby daughter, Robin. One day, it would hold Marcy, too.
We watched in silence as she reached the building, pulled a key out of her pocket, unlocked the door, and slipped inside, like a ghost gliding through a wall. It had been sixteen years since Marcy White’s baby had died, and she still came every week. People said she brought a different book each time and read it to Robin. They said it like it was something weird, or even crazy. Not me, though. I understood why she did it.
“You know what, Coop?” I asked, as we continued on down the path.
“What?”
“I’m calling bullshit on death.”
***
Excerpt from Dangerous Ground by Susan Hunter. Copyright 2019 by Susan Hunter. Reproduced with permission from Susan Hunter. All rights reserved.


Author Bio:

Susan Hunter
Susan Hunter is a charter member of Introverts International (which meets the 12th of Never at an undisclosed location). She has worked as a reporter and managing editor, during which time she received a first place UPI award for investigative reporting and a Michigan Press Association first place award for enterprise/feature reporting.
Susan has also taught composition at the college level, written advertising copy, newsletters, press releases, speeches, web copy, academic papers, and memos. Lots and lots of memos. She lives in rural Michigan with her husband Gary, who is a man of action, not words.
During certain times of the day, she can be found wandering the mean streets of small-town Himmel, Wisconsin, looking for clues, stopping for a meal at the Elite Cafe, dropping off a story lead at the Himmel Times Weekly, or meeting friends for a drink at McClain's Bar and Grill.

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