Fatal Agreements by Ashley Fontainne @ashleyfontainne #vbt

FATAL AGREEMENTS by Ashley Fontainne, Suspense/Mystery/Thriller, 449 pp., $15.99 (paperback) $3.99 (kindle)

Title: FATAL AGREEMENTS
Author: Ashley Fontainne
Publisher: RMSW Press
Pages: 449
Genre: Mystery/Suspense/Thriller

Whispered rumors tickled the ears of the residents of an entire town for decades about the disturbing secrets of the old Halstead House, dating all the way back to the early 1920s. Most people didn’t believe them. Several people will soon discover they should have listened.

Three years after struggling to cope with the death of her beloved father and escaping an abusive relationship, Samantha Chapman decides it’s time to return to her hometown of Hot Springs. She buys the ramshackle Halstead House, eager to transform the dilapidated, abandoned piece of history into her new law office and residence, hoping it will be the start of a brighter chapter and a safe haven to escape her personal demons.

Instead of newfound freedom, things take a dark turn when the resurrection of the old home reveals the disturbing secrets hidden within its walls. When youthful transgressions of numerous people come to light, including ones some members of the Chapman family are desperate to contain, it reveals the sins of the past. They collide with the grave mistakes of the present, creating a perfect storm of chaos and death for not only the Chapman family but others as well.

Some will survive.

Others will get burned.

Sam and her loved ones realize some family secrets should have remained buried.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

CHAPTER ONE

Wednesday, April 14, 1993

“I HOPE OUR chat made my intentions clear about what I expect from you, Samantha. Another incident like today will force me to contact your parents about your behavior. Again. This is junior high not elementary school. The days of disrupting class are over. Do I make myself clear?”

Biting her lip to keep from saying something nasty, Sam nodded. Rather than look at the irritated, sour face of Principal Townsend, she kept her gaze on her lap. She understood the proper response was “Yes, ma’am,” yet the words wouldn’t form on her lips. She was still too angry to play nice after Ms. Jolly sent her to the office.

The old hag English teacher, one of many in a school overrun with them, should have sent both guilty parties. Sam had no control over someone passing her something during class. Resa should be sitting right next to her, forced to listen to Terrible Townsend’s yammering about following rules and respect.

Sam tried to talk her way out of the situation. The thought of spending more time in detention or listening to yet another lecture from her mother made her mad. She tried to reason with the principal earlier, but it was a waste of time. Sam didn’t understand why she was the only one sent to the office. Resa passed the note to Sam during a pop quiz, not the other way around. Of course, Resa’s actions were sneaky. Sam’s loud argument in class with Ms. Jolly about the existence of the note and the request to produce it earned the trip to Terrible Townsend’s office.

“I can’t hear your head nod, Samantha.”

Raising her gaze, Sam stifled a laugh. Ms. Townsend’s ugly, beady eyes glared back, awaiting the proper response. Eager to escape the office, join Suzy for lunch, and read the note which started the mess, Sam caved. “Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you. You’re excused.”

Jumping to her feet, Sam strode toward the door.

“One more thing before you leave, Samantha.”

Cringing at the false assumption Ms. Townsend would let her go without some sort of punishment, Sam’s fingers wound around the doorknob. Terrible Townsend was fond of handing out detention as though it were Halloween candy. “Yes, Ms. Townsend?”

“When you enter high school, you should enroll on the debate team.”

Shocked by the words, Sam turned around. “Excuse me?”

After removing her glasses, Ms. Townsend stood, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her linen dress shirt. “Samantha Chapman, you have a way with words like your sister, though she’s yet to come out of her shyness. You have the command of a room like your parents; a perfect mixture of Big Sam’s joviality and Charmaine’s cool elegance. For a few seconds, you almost swayed me over to see your side of things. Your temper derailed you. It is something you need to work on controlling. I believe you are a natural debater and would make a great litigator someday.”

“Litigator?” Sam had no idea what the term meant.

Coming around from behind the desk, Ms. Townsend smiled, something she rarely did when alone, much less around the student body of Lake Hamilton Junior High. The student’s bright blue eyes were wild with curiosity and a hint of pride. As an educator, Ms. Townsend had seen the look enough times during her career in the public-school system. Samantha Chapman would go places if she learned to corral her mouth.

“Have you ever watched the TV show L.A. Law?”

“No.” Sam wondered where the strange conversation was headed.

“Lawyers who argue cases in front of judges and juries are known as litigators. I think you might be blessed with the raw abilities I mentioned. Don’t waste them. Focus your natural gifts and harness them while taming your tongue. If you do, I assure you great things will happen in your life, not only for you, but for those around you.”

Stunned by the surprising praise, Sam blinked several times before responding. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Go before you eat lunch too fast. No need for you to get sick.”

Disappearing out the door, Sam headed toward the cafeteria while extracting Resa’s note from the front pocket of her jeans. A hint of smile danced on her lips while thinking about Ms. Townsend, pleased she didn’t hand out any detention. Maybe it was time to give the woman another nickname? She wished her mother would say such nice things; be more complimentary, but the kind words were saved for Suzy only.

Opening the crinkled paper, she paused in the hallway, ignoring the sounds of laughter and clanking of dishes coming from the cafeteria. The aroma of sloppy joes and coleslaw filled the hall, making her mouth water and stomach rumble.

“There you are! Come on, hurry!” Resa’s long fingernails dug into Sam’s forearm. Her blonde, frizzy curls bounced in time with her rapid pace while tugging her friend toward the cafeteria doors.

“What’s going on?”

The paper slipped from Sam’s fingers, flittering to the floor.

Bending over, Resa scooped up the note while continuing to drag Sam toward the doorway. “I tried to warn you when overhearing Kathy and Tanya planning it out in first period. I begged them not to do it, but Kathy wouldn’t listen. Hurry up because he’s started! Kip’s at her table!”

“Started what?”

“Kathy’s game. Suzy’s today’s victim.”

Yanking her arm away, Sam stopped inches from the double metal doors leading to the cafeteria. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. He plans on flirting with Suzy before asking her to the Spring Fling dance loud enough for everyone to hear the words before he…”

“Oh, shit!” Sam’s pulse quickened.

Kathy Poole was known for insensitive pranks. Even the slightest annoyance like bumping into her in the hallway was justifiable cause to be in her crosshairs.

Pushing Resa aside, she peered around the doors. Kip Hale sat on the edge of the table, peering down at Suzy, his smile fake and movements practiced. Suzy’s blue eyes were laser-locked on Kip’s tan, gorgeous face, mesmerized as though the boy cast some sort of hypnotic spell over her love-struck mind.

Sam spotted Kathy Poole, Tanya Reynolds and the rest of the cheer team three tables over, hands covering their mouths as bouts of laughter made their bodies shudder. Sam didn’t care for any of the snotty cheerleaders, yet she despised Kathy Poole. Tanya and the others were mindless followers—Kathy was the mean ringleader.

Every single student at Lake Hamilton Junior High understood head cheerleader Kathy Poole claimed track star Kip Hale as her own, including Sam’s twin sister, Suzy, who had a massive crush on the hunk.

The “game” would break Suzy’s love-stricken heart. Suzy tried out for next year’s squad and made it, beating out one of Kathy’s friends.

Shoving her books into Resa’s hands, Sam scowled. “If you’re the one who blabbed about Suzy’s feelings toward Kip, I’ll whip your ass next.”

Resa said nothing so Sam ran to Suzy’s aide.

The din of laughter from the boisterous students disappeared after they let out a collective gasp while watching Sam race across the floor, her unruly coppery hair flapping behind her like fluttering flames.

Kip’s devious smile vanished as Sam barreled toward him.

Suzy turned her head at the commotion.

The flush of embarrassment made Suzy’s normally pale cheeks vibrant burgundy. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones disappeared. A trail of wet tears spilled from her sister’s eyes, rolling down the red cheeks in a steady stream.

“What an idiot! I can’t believe she fell for it! Like Kip would ever take her ugly ass on a date or to the Spring Fling dance! She looks like Bozo’s kid!”

The snickers from Kathy’s table ignited Sam’s fuse. She balled up her fist, never slowing her pace.

Kip stood, holding his hands out in mock surrender. “Hey, it was a joke…”

She never let him finish the sentence. The sound and feel of her fist smashing into his face made her own devious smirk appear even though the impact hurt like hell.

Kip flew backward, head grazing the edge of the table behind him. He landed with a loud thump on the stained tile floor.

Kathy stopped laughing as blood squirted from in between her boyfriend’s fingers. “You crazy bitch! Look what you did to him!”

“I’m not finished yet.”

Sam turned the focus of her rage on Kathy, splitting her lip before the faculty swooped in to intervene. The metal braces on the girl’s teeth ripped open her knuckles. She didn’t care. Wrapping her fingers around a wad of thick, brown hair, Sam yanked, ripping out a large chunk.

Ms. Townsend arrived, pulling the girls apart as another teacher helped Kip to his feet.

Kathy sobbed on the floor.

“My office, all of you! Now. Looks like our little chat earlier fell upon deaf ears, Samantha.”

Glaring at Ms. Townsend, Sam yanked her arm from the woman’s grip. “They deserved it, trust me. No one messes with my sister. No one.”

***

HOURS LATER, EARS ringing from her mother’s yelling, Sam stared at the ceiling while Suzy finished brushing her teeth in the bathroom. Ms. Townsend suspended her for three days, which ended up getting her grounded for three weeks. She didn’t care. The punishment was worth it because Kathy, Kip, and Tanya were suspended as well. She won her argument this time with Ms. Townsend.

After Resa showed the note to the principal, their plan in black and white doomed them. Less than twenty minutes after the battle in the cafeteria, several students humiliated by the trio in the past came forward. Once they spilled their stories, Kip was kicked off the track team, Kathy and Tanya stripped of being cheerleaders, and they all received a week’s suspension.

A soft knock on the bedroom door made Sam smile. Suzy slammed the bathroom door shut.

“Hey slugger. I brought some ice for your hand.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Sam noticed the gleam in his baby blue eyes. It looked like he had some new grays, making his fading auburn hair shimmer under the overhead light. “Does this mean you aren’t mad at me anymore?”

Easing down on the edge of the bed, Big Sam smiled after handing the ice pack to his daughter. “Your ma’s the one who’s got her feathers all ruffled. Not me. I’m a preening peacock. You stood up for your kin when the bullies attacked. I’m proud of you.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “You are? Why didn’t you say something when Mom was tearing into me?”

“Because over the years, I learned when to try and battle your ma and when to let her have the reins and run amok. Tonight, I picked the latter.”

After resituating the ice pack, Sam asked, “When my grounding’s over, may I start watching L.A. Law on Thursday nights?”

Big Sam raised an inquisitive brow. “Fine by me but TV ain’t my preferred entertainment choice. You know your ma watches Knots Landing on Thursday nights. Good luck convincing her to give up her nighttime soaps. Why the sudden interest?”

Sam shrugged her shoulders. “I’m thinking about what I want to be when I grow up. Being a lawyer sounds like fun.”

Ruffling the mop of dark auburn curls on his daughter’s head, Big Sam smiled. “You can be anything you want, darling daughter. Put your mind to it and stay focused. I’m behind you, and your sister, one-hundred percent with whatever career choices picked.”

Yanking the door open, Suzy stormed out of the bathroom and jumped into bed. “I hope you aren’t letting her off the hook, Daddy. What she did was wrong.”

Sam gaped at her sister.

Big Sam chuckled, rising to his feet. He found it rather amusing the twins looked identical yet had polar-opposite personalities. One’s attitude was courtesy of his wife, and the other was more in tune with his laid-back style.

He sensed an epic battle looming between his girls. “Well, enough raging estrogen for one day. Time for me to retire to the back porch with a good book and cigar. Try not to leave marks on each other or make a mess, girls. Love you both.”

Neither sister spoke for a full minute after their father left. Sam sensed Suzy’s anger from the across the dark room. She couldn’t fathom why in the world her twin was mad at her instead of the mean kids at school.

“You ruined my life.”

“I…”

“My turn to talk, Sam! You did enough gabbing all day, and when talking didn’t work, you acted like a boxer. Don’t stick your nose into my personal life again. Ever. I’ll handle things on my own. You may not mind being a social outcast, but I do, so butt out.”

Stung by the harsh words, Sam remained quiet. Suzy had never, ever, spoken to her like that before. For thirteen years they were consumed by the tight, twin bond between them. Silent tears trickled from her eyes, soaking the pillowcase while fuming over the day’s events.

Streaks of lightning lit up their bedroom, followed by a crack of thunder so loud their beds shook. Sam was terrified of storms and Suzy knew it. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, waiting for her sibling to come snuggle next to her like she always did when thunderstorms came.

Suzy never moved a muscle.

When the second boom rattled the bed, Sam’s eyes popped open. “Are you…?”

“No, I’m not. Deal with your fears while I handle mine.”

Sam sensed things would never be right between them. The knowledge made her sad and angry at the same time. She did nothing wrong and yet was being treated as though she did.

She wouldn’t grasp until many years later the devastating effects of the day’s incident, and how her actions to protect her sister would end up being the downfall of her entire family.

Ashley Fontainne writes in multiple genres ranging from mystery/thrillers to suspenseful paranormal to dark comedy. The recipient of numerous awards for her gritty, no-holds barred style of writing, her stories will captivate and pull you inside the lives of her characters and intricate plot lines.

Website Address: www.ashleyfontainne.com
Twitter Address: www.twitter.com/AshleyFontainne
Facebook Address: www.facebook.com/AshleyFontainne

 

Love, Loss and Lagniappe by Richard Robbins #vbt @rrobbinsbooks

LOVE, LOSS AND LAGNIAPPE by Richard Robbins, Literary Fiction, 186 pp., $3.99 (kindle)

Title: LOVE, LOSS AND LAGNIAPPE
Author: Richard Robbins
Publisher: Evolved Publishing
Pages: 186
Genre: Literary Fiction

Life is good for Dr. Drew Coleman, a successful young eye surgeon living in Uptown New Orleans, and he knows it. Having met and married his beautiful medical school classmate, Kate, the two settle happily into the routine of raising their two young daughters.

Drew’s charmed life is soon shattered by devastating news, causing him to go on a ten-year transcontinental journey of self-discovery, during which he explores the nature of God and Man, the divine inspiration for many of New York’s landmarks and artistic treasures, and the relationship between the found and the lost souls passing on the street. He meets a number of memorable characters, including the young blue-haired runaway, Blue, who renounced her given name when forced to leave her Minnesota home with her girlfriend, Anna.

In time, he discovers and explains the scientific basis for the meaning of life, and is finally found, or finds himself, setting the stage for a bittersweet and memorable ending.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Chapter 1

Spring 1982

Drew picked up his pace as he walked across campus on a steamy Saturday morning. He was scheduled to lead two Admissions Office tours for high school juniors and seniors starting in five minutes. It would likely be a busy week, since seniors had recently received their acceptance letters and the deadline to reply loomed only weeks away. Furthermore, as Spring Break had hit for northeastern high schools, there would be a roomful of well dressed New Yorkers and Bostonians soaking in the “local culture.” And they did not like to be kept waiting.

Drew had no time to stop for coffee on the way over, which might become a problem. Although he could grab some standard coffee free from the student cafeteria, this morning called for the good stuff. There would be pots of his favorite PJ’s coffee in the Admissions office, but they reserved that coffee, along with fresh croissants, strictly for the visiting students. Admissions required tour leaders to follow three essential rules: don’t flirt with the visiting students, don’t flirt with the moms, and don’t touch the refreshments.

At least he still had enough time to admire a lovely New Orleans spring morning. Spring in The Crescent City brought its own special feel. The morning sun burned the dew off the grass, creating the humidity for which New Orleans was famous—or infamous. The magnolia and cherry blossoms had burst into full bloom, creating a white and pink pastel background for the canvas of Victorian homes and buildings that gave Uptown New Orleans its distinct character.

The morning was typically quiet—few places as peaceful as a college campus at 8:45 on a Saturday morning. It would soon come alive with the sounds of backpack-sporting students purposefully going about their ways, but for now, he enjoyed having the campus to himself.

For an eighteen-year-old from Florida—the land of strip malls and perfectly straight roads, where each fountain-fronted community’s location was described as if on a Cartesian grid—New Orleans, with its unique architecture and culture, felt like a European movie set. Or a dream.

As he crossed the quad and walked under the breezeway of the library, the massive outline of Gibson Hall, which housed the Office of Admissions, came into view. Tour guides had been taught extensively about Gibson’s checkered history. It bore the name of Confederate General and US Senator Randall Lee Gibson, the first President of Tulane University. The massive Romanesque structure sat majestically across from the grand entrance of Audubon Park, separated only by St. Charles Avenue, with its anachronistic but still quite functional open-air Street Cars.

As he approached Gibson Hall, a familiar voice called out to him. “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?”

Drew looked over at his friend Matt, who held a steaming cup of cafeteria coffee, calm and sweat free, looking as if he had been there just the right amount of time.

“Made it with almost a minute to spare. Why come any earlier than you have to?” replied Drew. “What’s it look like for today?”

“A big group, lots of kids from New Jersey and Maryland. I talked to a few of them while they were signing in.” Matt blew on his coffee.

“That’s not what I was asking. Anybody cute? Anyone from Hollywood Hills High?”

“Dude, you know the rules. Plus, you see them for an hour and a half, then never again. Why even make the effort?”

Drew shrugged and shook his head. Classic Matt, perfectly rational.

Matt, along with their friend Clayton, was one of Drew’s two best friends from Hollywood Hills. As seniors, the three of them had decided to attend Tulane together. Matt, at six feet four inches of solid steel, was the picture of youthful vigor. Drew figured that’s what he got from eating a macrobiotic diet before anybody had ever heard of macrobiotic, and from working out every day.

Matt was a lefty and a heckuva baseball player, and such an intimidating presence that during baseball practice, Drew would literally shake in his shoes hoping that Matt would not hit the ball to him. He was also the most disciplined person Drew had ever known, numbering all his shirts and wearing them in sequence so that they each received the same amount of use.

Perfectly rational.

Although Drew didn’t think of Matt as naturally funny, unlike most unfunny people, he appreciated good humor, which made Drew like him even more. He could live a hundred years and never find a better person or a truer friend.

Thursday morning tours followed a routine schedule: half the group took a walking campus tour from 9:00 AM to 10:30 AM, while the other half sat through an information session. Then, from 10:30 to noon, they switched. As the clock turned to 9:00 AM, the tour leaders headed to opposite corners of the admissions office to divide up the large group.

As Matt turned to throw away his cafeteria coffee, Drew called out to him, “Hold on there, big guy. Give me that cup.”

In the activity of the moment, Drew took the cup, snuck over to the refreshments table, and filled it up with a generous helping of PJ’s coffee.

None of the cafeteria stuff today. Time for High Test!

As long as he kept it in the cafeteria cup, he figured they would never discover his petty theft. He also gave a longing eye to the Croissants, glistening in their buttery glory, but thought better of pushing his luck.

Fueled and ready, the sweat from his morning rush finally drying, he stood ready to give his standard welcome speech to his group, complete with well-rehearsed laugh lines and fake self-deprecation. Nothing made him feel bigger than giving admissions tours as a college freshman to high school juniors and seniors. At that age, each year felt like a graduation. The difference between being a high school junior and senior had been big, but the difference between being a high school senior and college freshman was huge.

Drew felt it, and he loved it.

He took a long sip of the forbidden coffee and put his Trojan Horse of a cup down on the long mahogany table, as he had dozens of times before. He then turned toward the group and looked up, and....

One particular visiting student, standing eagerly near the front of the group, immediately captured his attention. He became momentarily disoriented and his vision blurred a bit, then sharpened directly upon her. Everyone else in the room—as far as he was concerned—had vanished.

Petite, she stood just a little over five feet tall, and wore a blue, checkered jumper with a white Lycra t-shirt underneath. Small and curvy, she carried those five extra pounds that looked so good on a young girl but less so on a grown woman. She kept her short brown hair cut in a bob just below her chin, and her eyes....

What is with those eyes?

He couldn’t really describe their color—he guessed the closest would be green—but they were made up of so many different colors that they seemed to sparkle in the spring sun.

She stood near the front of the group along with her parents. Her father, a dignified looking man, had a face that seemed to be balancing the forces of decorum and tenderness. Her mother was a little taller than she was, beautiful in her own right with long brown hair, an elegant cream blouse, and pants that flared slightly more than expected, suggesting there might be more to her than suburban mother.

Drew calmed down, took a deep breath, and stammered his normally smooth welcome speech to begin the tour. As they started walking, he covered the history of Tulane University, its location in Uptown New Orleans, and its proximity—or lack of proximity, depending on the feel of the group—to the French Quarter. Although he mostly stuck to the standard script, for some reason, every sentence he uttered seemed to have the word “great” in it.

“How are the freshman dorms?”

“Great.”

“The meal plan?”

“Great.”

“Greek life?”

“Really great.”

His heart raced, and he wondered if he’d drunk just a little too much PJ’s coffee.

As they walked back and forth across the campus, he offered the usual—“Here’s the Science building. There’s the Library. Look at the beautiful Magnolias.”—all standard stuff. However, all the while, all he could focus on was, “Where is she?” And... “Don’t flirt.”

At the end of the tour came the questions. The first always came from some overeager kid who imagined Drew might actually have some influence on his application. That kid would then proceed to ask a series of questions to show everyone how smart he was, or how well he could craft a question.

He began with an anemic, “What is the student-to-faculty ratio?”

Really? That’s where you’re going with this?

The real answers were either, “Dude, it’s in the damn booklet,” or, “Dude, is the difference between 11:1 and 13:1 going to make you choose here or not?” Nonetheless, he dutifully replied, “The student-to-faculty ratio is 12:1, which is amongst the lowest in the nation.”

Once the little gunner was sufficiently self-satisfied, the real questions began, ranging from the routine to the unusual. Tour guides loved to report back to each other the questions they had never heard before. They were well prepared for the common questions, and well trained never to make up answers for the unusual ones. Drew particularly loved, “Why did you choose Tulane?” That let him get into his discussion about The Great Universities of the South—Vanderbilt, Duke, Emory, and Tulane. He was happy to compare and contrast the strengths and weaknesses of each, which the group generally found interesting, but again, he carefully avoided the real answer: “I didn’t get into Duke or Vandy. And Atlanta vs. New Orleans? No contest there.”

Finally, she asked a question. Looking directly into Drew’s eyes, she leaned forward to make sure nobody else was about to ask a question, and softly but confidently said, “Hello, my name is Kate. I’m a senior from Virginia.”

Her voice was different than Drew had imagined. Actually, he hadn’t imagined her speaking at all.  “I’m Drew,” he said, “a Freshman Biology Major from Florida.”

You don’t look at a Magnolia Tree and wonder what it will sound like. You just admire its essence.

Drew focused on the small details of her body language, the details that made each person unique, but which others generally overlooked or ignored. Like how she kept her hands folded in front of her waist in a slightly defensive position, yet still leaned forward at the waist as if to hear his responses more closely. How she nervously flicked at her nail polish with her thumbs as she switched her gaze from his right to his left eye and back again. How she furtively glanced over at her parents, perhaps making sure she didn’t seem more interested than was appropriate.

Drew didn’t remember her question in its entirety, and barely made it through the answer without embarrassing himself. What he was sure he would never forget was the eye contact.  People rarely made eye contact when they spoke. Maybe it was a defense mechanism or a primitive way of avoiding dominance contests, but people generally avoided it or kept it to a minimum. While answering her question, Drew pointed at this or that building or monument, but near the end, he looked towards her, and their eyes locked onto each other’s for one beat longer than usual.

That was it. Drew felt it, and more importantly, he could feel that she felt it too. He knew she did, or at least he thought he knew.

Cue the Oxytocin. I’m hooked.

He remembered that she was from Virginia, that her father was some sort of high-level government official, and that she was choosing between Tulane and the University of Virginia.

That one’s a tough sell.

He could make the case that Tulane was the better choice, but he couldn’t compete with the in-state tuition.

As they discussed the pros and cons, the Admissions Counselor called out, “Session one tours, come into the auditorium for information sessions. Session two tours, meet your tour guides in the main hallway.”

Damn, I forgot. It’s time for the next tour. Is that it? Is it really over?

He didn’t want it to end. If he finished his next tour quickly enough, perhaps he could be back before her information session let out, and would have the opportunity to see her again.

Rock and roll!

He proceeded with the canned speech—history of Tulane, here’s the Biology building, here’s the Library, nice school, nice town, yada, yada... good luck next year, guys. Then the questions started, and they kept coming: student to faculty ratio, Greek life, what’s the crime rate like here—lots of prep from the admissions office for that one.

C’mon, c’mon, let’s move it, guys. Let’s go back to admissions. Maybe the other group is still there.

The other group was gone.

The information sessions left plenty of time for questions and therefore varied in length. This must have been a short one, and just like that, she was gone. An emptiness descended upon him, and he felt like an hourglass with a hole in its base. Should he have gotten her phone number or address? He could get in trouble for that, but perhaps he could have done it in a way that would have seemed helpful rather than inappropriate. Could he have found a reason to ask someone in the Admissions Office for her information? No, that was strongly discouraged, he remembered.

The hell with it! I’m having a leftover Croissant. Shoot me.

He looked towards the quad and saw Matt bringing his group back, his curly blonde hair bouncing briskly above the crowd.

As Matt walked back, he called to Drew, “Beat me today. That hasn’t happened in a while.” Matt’s tours were always perfectly predictable in length, as he said just what he needed to say—no more, no less, and all on point.

Drew’s varied based on how late he was out the night before, whether he was able to score some coffee, and the personality of his group, but however those factors came together, they usually added up to a longer tour than Matt’s.

“I kinda rushed it a bit today,” he said. “I wanted to get back before the 10:30 info session let out.”

“Why, do you need to talk to someone in admissions?”

“No, to an applicant.”

“Dude, don’t go there. You know the rules. I’d rather them catch you with the coffee, and by the way, are those croissant crumbs on your shirt?”

Drew ignored the accusation. “Something happened today. I can’t describe it, but it was overwhelmingly powerful. I met someone, someone special. We only said a few words, but there was something there, something I’ve never felt before, something I didn’t know I could feel or... that could even be felt.”

“I know, some of them are pretty cute, and they look at you like you are the coolest kid in school.”

“Yeah, she was cute, but that’s not it. Well, that’s part of it, but there’s more.”

“And now she’s gone, so let’s go back to the dorm, put on some shorts, and go play some ball.”

Exercise as the cure, and good for you too. Very rational. Love that Matt.

This time Drew glided across campus, not noticing the buildings, the trees, the bustling campus, or Matt. People often said there were a few moments in your life for which everything else could be described as either before or after. Sometimes it was obvious, sometimes less so. Drew experienced this feeling years ago when his father passed away prematurely. He would then have to be the “man of the house,” with all its attendant responsibility and baggage. He felt it when he was accepted to Tulane and realized his days of living in Florida were over forever. Now, walking back to his dorm, he had the odd feeling that this was another of those moments.

Clayton greeted them as they walked into the room, wearing old gym shorts and a Miami Dolphins t-shirt. Matt had been up at 7:00 AM, worked out for an hour, showered, and made it early to Gibson Hall. Drew had woken up at 8:40 AM, threw on some clothes, and hustled there just as the tours were starting. Clayton still had sleep in his eyes.

“Bro, its after noon,” Matt said. “We’ve led four tours, stolen a croissant and coffee, and fallen in love already. Throw on some shorts and let’s ball!”

“I’m in,” replied Clayton, as he opened his dorm dresser to retrieve slightly less worn shorts and a different Dolphins t-shirt.

Drew loved that Clayton was always in for whatever.

Clayton stood a solid six feet tall, thin but not skinny, with dark black hair and a face that looked vaguely Eastern European. Whip smart but not as funny as he thought he was, he at least got points for trying, and was always up for fun. At the age of thirteen, he’d achieved a minor degree of local celebrity by advancing to the national finals in a basketball foul shooting contest. He routinely sank between twenty-two and twenty-four out of twenty-five shots, including in each round leading up to nationals. In the finals in Kansas City, however, he made only fourteen out of twenty-five. Nineteen would have won.

Clayton had been devastated, but his friends were compassionate. They called him The Kansas City Bomber. Forever. It really hurt his feelings. That made it funnier.

Boys.

As they walked to the gym, Clayton looked over at Drew and said, “So you’re in love? It happens to me every day here.”

He was right. Ten thousand young students enjoying the first freedoms of living away from home, combined with alcohol, made for a volatile mix. Crushes and broken hearts routinely followed.

Drew shook his head and sighed. “No, I’m talking about something different. You should have seen her. I’m talking about something special, something lasting. I felt it in an instant, and I can’t think about anything else.” He gazed glass-eyed at a worn Larry Bird poster on the far wall, as if trying to see his own thoughts, and asked Clayton, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Clayton replied, “Dude, love at first sight is an illusion, an imaginary idea, like Unicorns, or Abs.”

“I like them taller,” said Matt.

Richard Robbins has always liked telling good stories, but it was not until his youngest child left for college that he was able to find the time to put them into print.  His first novel, Love, Loss, and Lagniappe was inspired by actual events in his life, and utilizes Richard’s Medical and Business School background to explore the journey of self-discovery after heartbreaking loss, while revealing the scientific basis for the meaning of life (You’ll have to read it to find out!).

Richard is currently working on his second novel, Panicles, a multi-generational story of the intersecting fate of two families and the price of fame versus the simpler pleasures of a grounded life.
Richard lives in New York City with his love and inspiration, Lisa, his wife of thirty years (and counting), near their beloved grown children.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

WEBSITE | FACEBOOK

 

Winter at the Beach by Sheila Roberts #holidays #holidaybooks #vbt @_sheila_roberts

WINTER AT THE BEACH by Sheila Roberts, Women's Fiction, 384pp., $5.98 (paperback) $6.99 (kindle)

Title: WINTER AT THE BEACH
Author: Sheila Roberts
Publisher: Harlequin/Mira
Pages: 384
Genre: Women’s Fiction

Jenna Jones, manager of the Driftwood Inn, a vintage motel in the Washington beach town of Moonlight Harbor, is convinced that a winter festival would be a great way to draw visitors (and tourist business) to town during those off-season months. Everyone in the local chamber of commerce is on board with her Seaside with Santa festival idea except one naysayer, local sour lemon, Susan Frank, who owns a women’s clothing boutique in town. The beach gets hit with storms in the winter, no one will come, too close to Christmas. Blah, blah. What does Susan know?
It turns out that Susan knows a lot. A big storm hits during the weekend of the festival, wreaking havoc with the parade and producing power outages all over town. Including at the Driftwood Inn.
Jenna finds herself with a motel filled with people, all with no power. What to do? Enlist the help of friends, of course. Her friends take in many of the stranded visitors, and Jenna and her Aunt Edie take in the others, stuffing them into Aunt Edie’s house next door to the Driftwood.

All the guests come with their own unique stories. The last thing Taylor Marsh wanted was a getaway with her husband. His refusal to give up on his dying business is taking them down financially and killing their marriage. But her sister Sarah (she who has her financial act together and never lets her sister forget it) insists this will be fun for both their families. It will only be fun for Taylor if her husband gets eaten by a giant squid. Then there’s Darrel Wilson, who planned the perfect anniversary getaway for his wife, who’s been undergoing chemo. So much for the perfect anniversary. And the sisters, Lisa and Karen, who can’t seem to go on a sister outing without it turning into a Lucy and Ethel adventure. Unlikely roommates, all of them. But perhaps each one has a valuable lesson to share with the others. And perhaps, what looked like a disaster will prove to be the best holiday adventure of all.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon

Jenna Jones, who manages a vintage motel, the Driftwood Inn, is sure her idea for a holiday festival will bring business to her Washington coast beach town of Moonlight Harbor. Let’s see how her proposal goes over with the Moonlight Harbor Chamber of Commerce…
 “Okay, that takes care of old business,” Brody said. “Now, I think Jenna has some new business.”
Oh, boy. She could hardly wait to see what Susan would have to say about this.
She cleared her throat. “Actually, I have a suggestion for a way to bring down more visitors during our slow time.”
“We’re all for that,” said Patricia Whiteside.
Susan clamped her thin lips together and gave Jenna a look that dared her, the newbie, to come up with something.
Jenna’s nervous twitch put in an appearance. Don’t blink. She blinked one last time and cleared her throat again. “Well, I was just thinking about other towns I’ve visited in the past and one that came to mind was Icicle Falls.”
Susan rolled her eyes. “The cheesy German town.”
“A lot of people find it charming,” Jenna said. “It’s awfully pretty, and they’ve done a great job of making themselves as authentic as possible. They always have something going to get people up there. In fact, I did some research online. They have festivals all year long, including a chocolate festival. Their tree-lighting ceremonies on the weekends in December bring in thou- sands of people.”
“So, are you proposing we have a tree-lighting ceremony?” Susan mocked.
“No, but I am proposing we have a holiday festival.”
“We just had a festival in August in case you forgot,” Susan said snidely.
What was with this woman anyway? The town had done a good deed by putting on a festival to help Jenna raise money to restore the Driftwood after she experienced a financial setback. It had been such a success that the chamber had decided to make the Blue Moon Festival a tradition, with proceeds going to help other businesses in town in need of assistance. Jenna had benefited and other local businesses would as well, and Susan resented it? She was a crab in the pot. If she couldn’t succeed, she didn’t want anyone else to, either. And everyone knew her shop wasn’t doing that well, especially now that Courtney was selling her own designs over at the Oyster Inn.
Well, pooh on her. Jenna handed papers to both Tyrella and Brody to start passing around the table.
 “People love festivals. Remember how many came down for the Blue Moon one?”
“That was in the summer,” Susan reminded her.
“I know. But people also love holiday festivals. We’re looking for ways to get visitors down here in the winter. Why not put together a giant holiday party in Moonlight Harbor?”
Patricia Whiteside was reading Jenna’s handout. “Seaside with Santa, that’s cute. And I like all the suggestions you’ve made for activities. I really like the idea of making use of the pier.”
“The weekend before Christmas?” Susan objected, frowning at her handout. “Who’s going to want to come to something then? People will be getting ready to go see family, and they’ll be finishing up their shopping.”
“Why shouldn’t they finish it here?” Jenna argued. “We have all kinds of cute shops. We have great places for them to stay while they shop and plenty of restau- rants where they can eat. They may even want to stay here for the holidays. All we need is an event to lure them down. A festival could do it. And who doesn’t like a parade? Look how many people turn out for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.”
“Look at the floats they have in that parade,” Susan countered. “What sort of floats would we be able to put together down here?”
“Okay, maybe not the most impressive parade ever,” Jenna admitted, “but I bet we could come up with some- thing.”
“I could get some of my employees to dress up as mermaids,” said Kiki, “and stick ’em on a flatbed truck strung with fake seaweed.” She grinned, clearly taken with her idea.
“We need more for our Moonlight Harbor Queen and her princesses to do,” put in Nora. “They love riding in those old convertibles. You’ll let us use your vintage Caddy, right, Ellis?”
“Well...” Ellis hesitated. “If it rains...”
“Which it probably will,” said Susan. “Come on, people, be practical. You know what it’s like down here in the winter, all wind and rain.”
Patricia pooh-poohed that objection. “We’ve survived plenty of storms.”
“Well, I think it’s a bad idea,” Susan said, scowling across the table at Jenna.
Maybe it was. Jenna’s left eye began to twitch.
“I think it sounds great,” said Elizabeth MacDowell. She and her twin sister, K.J., were new members of the chamber. They’d opened their arts and crafts store, Crafty Just Cuz, in September, and it was already one of Jenna’s favorite places to hang out.
“We do need more business in the winter,” said Cindy Redmond. “There’s no getting around it. And doing something for the holidays could be fun. I say we give it a try,” she added, and Jenna’s eye stopped twitching.
“We’d have to get moving right away,” Nora said, pulling another sheet of paper from her yellow tablet. “Who can help?”
“I can,” said Ellis.
“Me, too,” Brody said, smiling at Jenna. “Jenna, it’s your idea. You’ll have to chair the committee.”
“Me?” she squeaked. Not that she couldn’t take charge. She was a firstborn, and Responsibility was her middle name. (Although her sister, Celeste, would probably argue that her middle name was Bossy.) She didn’t have a problem with rolling up her sleeves and getting to work, but she also didn’t want to offend old- timers like Susan Frank. “I’m sure someone else...” she began.
“Your idea, you have to do it,” Susan goaded.
Jenna raised her chin. “I can do it.” She’d survived rehabbing the Driftwood Inn. How much harder could it be to organize a festival?
In three months. Blink. Blink, blink, blink.
“Do I have a motion that we sponsor a Seaside with Santa Festival for the weekend before Christmas?” Brody asked.
“So moved,” said Ellis. “I’m with you, kid,” he told Jenna.
“I’ll second,” Nora said and reached across the back of Tyrella’s chair to give Jenna’s shoulder an encouraging pat.
“All in favor?” Brody asked.
“Aye,” chorused almost everyone.
“Opposed?”
“Nay,” Susan Frank said. “I’m telling you all, this is a bad idea. Make sure you put that in the minutes,” she told Cindy.
“Motion carries,” said Brody. He smiled down at Jenna. “Looks like we’re going to be putting on a holiday bash.”
“Holiday disaster,” Susan grumbled from her side of the table.
What did Susan know? Blink, blink, blink.

USA Today best-selling author Sheila Roberts has seen over fifty books, both fiction and non-fiction in print. Her novels have appeared in many different languages and been made into movies for both the Lifetime and Hallmark Channels. She writes about things near and dear to women’s hearts – love, friendship, family and chocolate.

Her latest book is the women’s fiction, Winter at the Beach.

Website Link: http://www.sheilasplace.com
Twitter Link: https://twitter.com/_Sheila_Roberts?lang=en
Facebook Link: https://www.facebook.com/funwithsheila/

 

The Water Is Wide by Laura Vosika @lauravosika #vbt #timetravel #historical #fiction

THE WATER IS WIDE by Laura Vosika, Time Travel/Historical Fiction, 451 pp., $16.99 (paperback) $4.99 (kindle)

Title: THE WATER IS WIDE Author: Laura Vosika Publisher: Gabriel’s Horn Press Pages: 451 Genre: Time Travel/Historical Fiction

After his failure to escape back to his own time, Shawn is sent with Niall on the Bruce’s business. They criss-cross Scotland and northern England, working for the Bruce and James Douglas, as they seek ways to get Shawn home to Amy and his own time.

Returning from the Bruce’s business, to Glenmirril, Shawn finally meets the mysterious Christina. Despite his vow to finally be faithful to Amy, his feelings for Christina grow.

In modern Scotland, having already told Angus she’s pregnant, Amy must now tell him Shawn is alive and well—in medieval Scotland. Together, they seek a way to bring him back across time.
They are pursued by Simon Beaumont, esteemed knight in the service of King Edward, has also passed between times. Having learned that Amy’s son will kill him—he seeks to kill the infant James first.

The book concludes with MacDougall’s attack on Glenmirril, Amy and Angus’s race to be there and Shawn’s attempt to reach the mysterious tower through the battling armies.

Watch the Trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1z7mHo-OxQ&list=PL1M7umb_F_hIUIeqM5z8oeaX4mGrj1afB&index=3

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon

As the shadows lengthened, Shawn cleared his throat. “Any thoughts on where to spend the night? Is there a Holiday Inn around here?”

“There’s no inn of any sort.”

“Yeah, and that’s a problem,” Shawn said, “because last time I slept in the great outdoors, a wolf climbed into bed with me, and it didn’t really end well for either of us.” He rubbed his thigh, where a long scar would forever remind him of the night.

“You did well.” Niall cocked a grin at him. “It almost makes me glad to have you at my side, despite your infernal complaining.” The sky over the leafy canopy grew grayer as they climbed another hill.

“I haven’t complained for half an hour, and considering I’m stuck with you, that’s pretty impressive.” An owl hooted, low and mournful. “I’m pretty sure that knocks a couple months off any Purgatory time I’d racked up.” The river crackled, cold water splashing against thin ice on the edges, beside them.

“Any time?” Niall chortled, a candle against the darkening wood. “You’ll be fortunate to get as high as Purgatory, and if you do, you’ve racked up so much time there, they’ll have to kick the rest of them straight into Heaven to make room for all the Purgatory you need!”

“I don’t think it works like....” Shawn stopped at the top of the hill, staring at the sight before them. “Holy ruins, Batman. What is that?”

Niall and his pony halted by his side. The animal tossed its head, and nuzzled Niall’s arm. Before them stretched a wide expanse of broken stone walls, stone buildings with mouths and eyes gaping wide in the twilight, on either side of a long road. One vast length of wall held numerous niches. Thirty yards away, crumbling walls enclosed rows of short, stout, stone posts. Beyond it, a stairway led down into a dark maw. Bushes sprang from cracks. Trees grew in and among the abandoned structures. Shadows stretched everywhere, as the sun sank, sending fiery orange and pink rays down the center road, lighting the mist that swirled along it.

“That,” said Niall with a smile, “is our inn. God provides.” He touched his heels to his pony, starting down the gentle slope.

Shawn coughed loudly. “Uh, yeah, He sure does. The question is what has He provided? What is this place?”

“A Roman fort.” Niall led his pony down the center path, the remains rising on either side. A bird called somewhere in the trees.

“The Roamin’ in.” Shawn used English for the last two words. “God has a sense of humor.”

Niall smiled, pointing to the stairs leading down. “There. ’Tis indoors.”

“It’s a pun,” Shawn clarified. “It’s a whole lot funnier if you see it spelled out.”

“No doubt,” Niall agreed. “Shall we gather firewood? Keep any more wolves from climbing in bed with you?”

“Yes, let’s. And what keeps away the ghosts of the Roman legionnaires? Or their victims?”

“One sight of your face ought to scare any spirits back to the underworld.”

“If that doesn’t work,” said Shawn, “your pathetic attempts at music will.”

“Perhaps you could brag of your exploits with women.” Niall grinned. “Even Hades is better than having to listen to that.”

Shawn laughed. “You’re jealous.”

They picked their way over the darkening path strewn with stones. In the trees above, an owl hooted.

“What happens tomorrow?” Shawn nodded at the limping pony.

Niall’s mouth was taut. “We hope he’s better. If not, we let him rest, and spend the time learning to play the lute. We’ve shelter, walls and a roof, which is more than we expected.”

They stopped before their intended room. Shawn sighed. It would do no good to stay in the open, but the stone structure, with its empty eyes and stone stairs descending into darkness, was hardly welcoming.

“We’ll need wood,” Niall said. They tethered the ponies to a tree springing up near the ruin, left the lute beside them, and set out to gather branches.

The sky was now deep blue, the ruins cloaked in shadow. A wolf howled in the distance. The air grew chillier as they worked, till a night among ghosts looked inviting, even homey, as long as it was warm. They piled the kindling on the lowest step outside their chosen abode, where it would warm the room, but send its smoke up into the sky. Niall scraped flint, and soon, they had flickering light by which to eat their hard bread and berries. Shawn settled back, content with his stomach less than empty, and pulled out the lute. He adjusted a couple tuning pegs, tried a few chords, and began one of the songs he’d played on guitar. Niall relaxed against another wall, watching his fingers, humming along. “Let me try,” he said at last. Shawn handed it over, giving instruction as Niall leaned over the strings, working his fingers into unfamiliar positions for chords, and picking out melodies.

Outside, a pony whickered. Niall and Shawn froze, looking to the doorway, where they could see only black night beyond the glowing fire. Niall laid the lute down gently. “We've been careless,” he said softly. They reached for their knives.

“I’m kind of hoping it’s only a ghost,” Shawn whispered back. The familiar tingle of adrenaline began, a tremoring of the nerves in his arms. His muscles tightened. “Do we wait for whoever it is to come in?”

Niall shook his head. “And wait for a whole army to come in on us? If I’m to die tonight, ’twill be fighting for my life.” He rose, back against the wall, and inched around till he stood pressed by the doorway, where the fire crackled. On the other side, Shawn did the same, his heart pounding hard. Niall pointed to his chest, then to Shawn, and held up fingers in a silent count: One. Two. Three.

He sprang over the small flames, into the night. Shawn leapt behind him, knife ready, heart beating triple time, nerves screaming! The fire threw shadows across the pony, who balked against his tether. Shawn saw nothing. But he heard the crack of a twig just beyond the light. He and Niall lunged. The single crack grew into a panicked flurry of rustling leaves, cracking twigs, branches snapping back in their faces as they gave chase. Shawn ducked and swerved, saw Niall ahead, veered, and suddenly, there was a pile of arms, legs. He dropped his knife.

“Get down!” Niall roared. Shawn threw himself to the ground, hands over his head.

All became silent for a heartbeat...two.

Then the forest erupted with sound!

“I didn’t mean you!” Niall said indignantly.

“I’ve done naught, Milord! Don’t kill me!”

Then Niall was laughing, great gusty roars of merriment. “Shawn, get up! You’re hiding from a boy!”

“Don’t kill me! I can help you! I can help your hobin, Milord!”

Shawn inched his hand from over his eyes to see the dark shape of Niall sitting astride a boy who managed to flounder, fight, and cower, all at once, while protesting. He climbed irritably to his feet. “You said get down!”

“I meant him.”

“You staged this because your lute-playing sucks!” Shawn threw back into the night. “You needed a distraction.”

“Thank goodness at least you can play a lute, because the way you fight, a mouse would have gotten the better of us!”

The boy looked back and forth between them. He stopped struggling. “Milord?”

Shawn realized both their faces were showing. He recoiled into shadow. Niall climbed to his feet, his knife at the ready. “Get up.”

“He’s just a boy,” Shawn sighed. “Put your knife away.”

“Aren’t we sending boys to war?” Niall asked. “What makes you think a boy can’t kill?”

Shawn had no answer. He could think only of the boys to whom he’d taught trombone, so many years ago in the future—boys in sports jerseys, with trimmed hair, worrying about who to ask to prom. This boy stood before them in tatters. He wrapped his arms around his skinny body. His hair hung past his shoulders. Clarence. His father’s killer, as he’d last seen him, flashed through Shawn’s mind. Yes, boys could kill. He didn’t want to believe this one would. He just didn’t want any more ugliness in his world.

“What’s your name?” Niall demanded.

“I have none,” the boy said.

“No name? How can you have no name?”

The boy shrugged. “My parents died long ago, my mother in childbirth, and my father in battle. A farrier found me and took me in. He didn’t know my name.”

“Surely he called you something?”

“Red.” The boy’s shivering increased.

“Niall,” Shawn said.

Niall pressed the boy, ignoring Shawn. “And why are you not with him now?”

“He was....” Red’s teeth clacked together. He clenched them tight, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, and tried again. “He was killed when the soldiers came through. I ran into the forest and hid. They were afraid to follow me into the ruins.”

“Niall, he’s cold.”

Niall’s knife remained pointed at the boy. “Which soldiers?”

“They were English, Milord. Meaning no offense, Milord.” His teeth clattered again. “If you’re English.”

“Niall!” Shawn stepped forward, his anger growing. “He’s just a kid! He’s about to....”

Before he finished, the boy collapsed. Shawn was under him, catching his sagging body before it hit the ground.

Laura Vosika is a writer, poet, and musician. Her time travel series, The Blue Bells Chronicles, set in modern and medieval Scotland, has garnered praise and comparisons to writers as diverse as Diana Gabaldon and Dostoevsky. Her poetry has been published in The Moccasin and The Martin Lake Journal 2017.

She has been featured in newspapers, on radio, and TV, has spoken for regional book events, and hosted the radio program Books and Brews. She currently teaches writing at Minneapolis Community and Technical College.

As a musician, Laura has performed as on trombone, flute, and harp, in orchestras, and big bands. She lives in Brooklyn park with 5 of her 9 children, 3 cats, and an Irish Wolfhound.

Her latest book is the time travel/historical fiction, The Water is Wide.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK