WARNING: Some pictures in this post may make sensitive viewers a little nauseated.

Carol’s been blogging about her phoebes lately, so not to be outdone, I thought I’d tell you about the feathered creatures who have taken refuge in our carport. Especially after hubby got his cell phone and took some photos.

First of all, we’ve had a birth. Several of them, in fact. No, not me. It’s a mama robin.

Here are her four little chick-a-dees, all eager for a bite of food. (Kids can be so demanding.)

Hubby noticed this nest and the mama sitting on it for weeks and we anxiously awaited the hatching, hoping the neighborhood cat wouldn’t discover them before the little ones had a chance.

And here they finally are.

Hubby’s read they’ll fly away in about three weeks. They grow up so soon.

To the right is the proud Mama out hunting for grub, or earthworms. A mother’s job is never done. (Please excuse the weeds.)

In the middle of our carport sits the empty nest of the first invaders–I mean visitors (though they acted like we were renting from them).

Their babies flew the coop about a week ago. We weren’t sure what type of bird this was, but the mother was small and gray. Hubby thinks she was a Tufted Titmouse.

The mother was very protective, flying out of the nest every time we pulled up, trying to distract us. Lucky for her, we aren’t feline. (By the way, please ignore the white stain on the rafter. We’ll have to paint again. Sigh.)

And speaking of that stain, here’s the final photo (see above warning before looking). Our feathered tenants certainly made a mess, but at least they missed the car. Anyone know a good pressure washer?

So what has your spring been like?

TRANSFORMATIONS

by Linsey Lanier

Thank you, Tammy, for having me here today. I’m thrilled to be a Guest Chef on my favorite blog group, Petit Fours and Hot Tamales. Okay, I’m a member of the group, so I’m a little biased. But it’s been such fun blogging with these talented ladies for the past three and a half years and watching us grow from an eager, wide-eyed group who didn’t really know how to blog, to a mature partnership who are dedicated to providing our readers with entertainment, inspiration, and a great selection of books to read.

One of the most challenging parts of writing a novel is dealing with the growth of your characters. With the Miranda’s Rights Mystery Series, I’ve discovered it’s even more challenging with a series of books. With each book, characters have to face new obstacles and grow a little more.

So I thought today I’d talk about the two headliners in this series and their journeys.

Miranda Steele
A woman can never make herself too tough, too strong, or too street smart.

Miranda Steele, the heroine (who is more like a female anti-heroine in the first book) has been through the wringer. Thirteen years ago she was married to an abusive psychopath who stole her only child from her.

Miranda’s reaction to what happened to her was to make herself as tough and as strong as she could, and to start searching for her daughter. When Miranda meets ace investigator Wade Parker, she has a chip on her shoulder the size of Milwaukee.

That’s one reason she doesn’t believe him when he offers to try to find her daughter. Or when he offers her a job as a trainee at the Parker Investigative Agency. Or when he offers her his heart. She has trouble believing anyone like Parker could care for her. And yet the new job gives her a sense of purpose she’s never known before. It invigorates her, makes her feel alive.

And so does Parker.

Wade Parker
His calling was spawned by a deep, shadowy need, a dark episode from his past that  plunged him into a career both his father and grandfather disapproved of.

The hero of the series, Wade Russell Parker III, is Atlanta’s most eligible forty-four-year-old bachelor. Though born into the wealthy Parker family, he’s gone his own way to become an ace investigator and CEO of the ultra-successful Parker Agency.

Three years ago, Parker lost his wife to ovarian cancer and thought he could never love again. Until he met Miranda Steele.
One look at her trim, lean body, her shapely backside, those those lush, deep blue eyes fringed with the blackest of lashes, and a raw, primal desire ripples through him that takes him aback.

Never in his life has he known such a woman. With her stubborn tenacity, her nose for trouble, her uncanny ability to get herself into the thick of danger, she puts him through the gamut of emotions from terror to despair. And yet, he can’t stop admiring that irascible spirit, that strength of will, that need to defend the defenseless, to avenge the innocent. They are kindred spirits.

And though she makes him face not only his weaknesses, but his own dark past, the undeniable bond between them grows stronger every day.

One day she’ll be his.

FOREVER MINE
No human being had ever cared about her like Wade Russell Parker the Third did. So why couldn’t she commit to him?

In the third book of the series, FOREVER MINE, Miranda and Wade have settled most of their differences–except for the one about their future together.

Ever since she left her abusive husband, Miranda has been a fighter. Over the years, she’s picked up martial arts and street fighting tactics, and now that she works for the Parker Investigative Agency, she can shoot.

But the battle with her inner demons isn’t so easy. Especially now that dead bodies are popping up again.

Distracted as she is by her struggle over the loss of her daughter and her anxiety over marrying her sexy boss, can Miranda stop an old wife-beating enemy, who has just discovered how much he enjoys murdering women?

Or will she become his next victim?

I’m giving away a free download of Book I, SOMEONE ELSE’S DAUGHTER from Smashwords today, so leave a comment and tell me what transformations appeal to you in a hero or heroine.

Extra Bonus: If you’d like to read more about what Miranda went through with her ex-husband, the Extended Prologue to the series, The Day It Happened, is available for free on Smashwords.

I’m an antsy, agitated writer. When I get an idea for a story, I get excited and run with it, almost hyperventilating as I get down the flurry of words. I let the tale take me wherever it will for the first thirty pages or so, and by that time, I usually have no clue where I got the original idea from.

In fact, writers often don’t like to be asked where they got an idea for a story. After all, a hundred-thousand word novel is so much more than just one idea. It takes hundreds, perhaps thousands of ideas, big, small, and medium to make a book.

But a few months ago, I saw a biography of Margaret Mitchell on Georgia Public television (which I blogged about last July). The narrator explained that when Mitchell was a young girl, her mother took her around to see several old mansions that had been destroyed during the Civil War. The re-enactment of a horse-drawn carriage rolling mother and child from place to place, and a little girl in crinolines staring in awe at the gutted buildings was deeply moving.

That childhood memory was what produced Gone With The Wind. I found that thought absolutely mesmerizing. But even more than that, the scene made me remember as a reader, what a delight it is to know where an author got her idea from.

So I decided to think back and remember how I came up with the ideas for some of my stories.

When I began the story that became the first book in the Miranda’s Rights Mystery series, I was playing around with the idea of the hero and heroine being opposites. Paranormal novels were coming into vogue, and I was getting interested in mysteries. So I thought of a tough detective as a hero, who only dealt in facts and reality and pairing him with a psychic amateur sleuth.

Miranda Steele isn’t exactly a psychic, but she does have a sixth sense when it comes to solving murders. The accuracy of her instincts surprises seasoned private investigator Wade Parker. She gets a chill up the back of her neck, even when there doesn’t seem to be any reason for it. She also has a dark past she wrestles with. While Wade Parker does like to deal in facts, he also has a passion for his work that he recognizes in Miranda and that draws him to her.

The idea for the second book in the mystery series was the murder itself. I saw an image of a young woman lying in a stall after her face had been kicked in by her favorite horse. I knew then that Miranda had to discover the body.

If you’ve read the first two books in the series, SOMEONE ELSE’S DAUGHTER and DELICIOUS TORMENT, I hope you’ll be pleased to know the third book, FOREVER MINE, is now available on Amazon and Smashwords. It will be available on other channels in a few weeks.

In the third book, I wanted to tie up some loose ends from the the other stories. Several characters from the previous books will make an appearance. And Miranda and Parker’s relationship reaches a point of no return.

Here’s the description:

FOREVER MINE (A MIRANDA’S RIGHTS MYSTERY) – BOOK III
Ever since she left her abusive husband, Miranda Steele has been a fighter. Over the years, she’s picked up martial arts and street fighting tactics, and now that she works for the Parker Investigative Agency, she can shoot.

But the battle with her inner demons isn’t so easy. Especially now that dead bodies are popping up again.
Distracted as she is by her struggle over the loss of her daughter and her anxiety over marrying her sexy boss, can Miranda stop an old wife-beating enemy who has just discovered how much he enjoys murdering women?

Or will she become his next victim?

Leave a comment today for a free copy of SOMEONE ELSE’S DAUGHTER on Smashwords. I’ll be giving away three of them.

Is it really March already? Seems like I was just making my New Years resolutions. Or rather, not making them. And now, it’s almost tax time. ShreieieieieK!

Anyway, when I think of March, I remember my father quoting an old poem. “The March wind doth blow…” Maybe in Chicago (where I grew up). Down here in the ATL (where I live now), the wind blows ALL the time. And pretty hard.

So I decided to look that poem up. Guess what? My daddy had it wrong! It’s the North wind that blows. To prove it, here’s the text of the poem. The source said it came from the 1919 edition of the Young Folks Treasury.

THE ROBIN
The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

Well that’s depressing. Not very spring-like at all. So I looked a little further into this poem and found The Real Mother Goose online. It even has illustrations (pen and watercolor by Blanche Fisher Wright.)

Looking over the old children’s nursery rhymes, I had a déjà vu. I could have sworn I had a copy of this book when I was a kid. Those pictures looked awfully familiar. They jogged something way in the back of my brain that had been lying dormant for years.

According to the creator of the website, The Real Mother Goose was “originally copyrighted in 1916, which now makes it in the public domain.”

I’m glad she shared it with us.

So I spent some time reading about Little Tom Tucker, the old woman in the shoe,  and what little boys are made of. There even was another poem about March winds. It’s very short.

MARCH WINDS
March winds and April showers
Bring forth May flowers.

Not exactly the way I remember that rhyme, but it’s cheery. Spring is right around the corner. Do you remember this book? What things do you remember about March from your childhood?

]]> http://www.petitfoursandhottamales.com/2012/03/12/of-march-winds-and-nursery-rhymes/feed/ 17 http://www.petitfoursandhottamales.com/2012/01/09/new-years-revelation/ http://www.petitfoursandhottamales.com/2012/01/09/new-years-revelation/#comments Mon, 09 Jan 2012 05:05:25 +0000 Linsey Lanier http://petitfoursandhottamales.com/?p=10118 by Linsey Lanier

Happy New Year, everyone! And welcome to our month-long anniversary party.

What did I learn while I was on vacation over the holidays? That if I could stay at home all day, I’d spend most of my time marketing and wouldn’t get any more writing done than I normally do. Sigh.

I really meant to write more. But every time I sat down at my computer, I was tempted by Twitter, fascinated by Facebook, beguiled by blogs, and enthralled by email (how many Yahoo groups am I a member of now?)

Okay, enough silly alliteration. What am I going to do about it? Ah, a New Year’s resolution!

And so my New Year’s resolution (or revelation) for 2012 is…WRITE MORE (I NEED to WRITE MORE). Duh! As an Indie pubbed author, putting out books is my lifeline.

And while I was out surfing the Net in 2011, I came across these screaming reminders of that fact:

J.A. Konrath, in one of my favorite posts of his, Are You Writing? says:

“I’ve got some bad news for you.

Right now, you’re reading one of the most relevant, controversial, popular, and opinionated blogs about the world of publishing, and it is an epic fail on your part.”

He’s so cute. But why it is an epic fail? Because, Konrath goes on to explain, he’s got over 40 books out (more now), other top indie sellers have 11, 20, or more. That’s why they are successful and indies with fewer books–not so much. I’d better get busy.

And then there’s this kicker by Lee Tobin McClain in The Key to Success: Write More! “Artistic and scientific achievers from Picasso to Da Vinci didn’t succeed more, percentage-wise, than other now-unknown creators of their eras; they simply produced more, and thus had more successes.”

That post is an eye-opener. I recommend checking it out. (To those of you who are not writers, note that McClain’s statement applies not only to the other arts, but to anything you want to do well, especially any highly competitive field. Like blogging.)

And finally, courtesy of Dean Wesley Smith, the first two of Robert Heinlein’s Business Rules:

1) You must write.

2) You must finish what you write.

Check out the above post for the rest of the rules.

So you won’t be seeing me much on Facebook and Tweeter during the first part of the 2012. Instead (barring the unforeseen), I’ll be working on these projects:

• The third book in the Miranda’s Rights Mysteries series – Are wedding bells in store for Miranda and Parker?

• Finish the final revision of Chicago Cop (A Mystery) – A police thriller featuring GUTS team lead Lieutenant Maggie Delaney, a tough cop searching for meaning in her life.

• A new, humorous paranormal romance about a factory worker who gets coerced into becoming an international assassin.

So what will you be doing this year? What books will you be reading or writing?

Leave a comment and in honor of our anniversary, I’ll pick a winner to receive both a $5 Amazon gift card and a free copy of SOMEONE ELSE’S DAUGHTER (A Miranda’s Rights Mystery) on Smashwords.

As promised, here are the final winners:

1st place winner of the $25 Amazon Gift Card: Michele Stefanides

2nd place winner of Cooking with the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales: Terry Wright

Congratulations to all the winners!

And speaking of blasts, all through January we’ll be celebrating our anniversary here on Petit Fours and Hot Tamales. Can you believe it’s been three years? I can’t.

If you didn’t win a prize this time, come back for the party. We’ll be giving away prizes every day in January.

See you then.

Hope you all have a safe and happy New Year’s Eve!

Bad, Bad, Bad, Bad . . .Books?

For the second time in less than a week, with trembling fingers, Désirée lifted the phone and dialed the Sheriff’s Office. After three long rings, a female voice answered.

“Howdy doo.”

Désirée looked at the receiver. Only in a place like Harrow County would the emergency dispatcher answer the phone in such a manner. She swallowed and steadied herself. “Hello. This is Désirée Devereaux at the library and…”

“Désirée Devereaux, the assistant librarian?”

“Why, yes.”

“Oh, you poor child,” the woman cooed in a motherly tone. “You must be devastated over what happened to Ada.”

Désirée sank onto the stool behind her, suddenly glad to have someone to talk to about the incident. “Yes, ma’am, I am. We were rather close. Did you know her well?”

“Of course. And don’t call me ma’am. You know me. I’m Gertie. Gertie Johnson. I was Ada’s bridge partner. We sang together in the choir at First Pentecostal, though Ada always got all the solos. She had such a beautiful voice.”

“Yes, she did.” Now Désirée recalled the woman. “You’re one of the Hookers, aren’t you?”

Gertie cackled with glee at being recognized. “Why yes, child, I am. In fact, I founded the group. I’m proud to say there are now five of us Hookers, all crocheting away every Thursday in the Quiet Room.”

“Oh, yes.” Désirée straightened. No sense wasting a plug for the new library. “But that was at the old branch. Will you be coming to the new one now?”

There was a pause. “Well, Désirée dear, we were planning on it, but after what happened to Ada, I just don’t know.”

Désirée let a little pout slip into her voice. “Yes, I understand, Gertie. But, even though it’s terrible, the library must go on and I’m in charge now, at least temporarily. I’m afraid if the new branch can’t attract some patrons soon, the mayor might close it down.”

She could hear Gertie inhale. “That would be an awful shame.”

“It would. Ms. Rawlings, I mean Ada, would have hated that.”

“Yes, Ada would have hated that with a passion. She loved books more than her own life. Oh, now that wasn’t very nice to say. But you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. Ada did love books and so do I. If your group met here, it would be a way to keep her memory alive, don’t you think, Gertie?”

“It might be at that.”

“So you and the other Hookers will come on Thursday? I can count on seeing you then?”

Another pause. “I’ll mention it to them and see what they say. Oh, I almost forgot. What did you call about?”

Désirée coughed. “Oh. Yes. I, uh . . .” Might as well spell it out, even though the Hookers might never set foot in here. “Gertie, the library’s been vandalized.”

“Vandalized? Did those nasty Tucker boys spray paint the outside fence like they used to do at the old branch?”

Désirée gave a weak laugh. “Not exactly. When I came in this morning, I found a pile of books on the floor.”

“Well, wouldn’t it be normal for there to be books on the floor of a library?”

“You don’t understand, Gertie. There were a few dozen of them between two of the bookcases. They weren’t placed there, someone had thrown them down. They were all in disarray. And someone had taken a black felt tip pen and scribbled all over the pages.”

“You don’t say. How dreadful. What did they scribble?”

Désirée hesitated, wondering how much she could tell Gertie. Then she reminded herself that the woman worked for the Sheriff’s Office. “It looked like some kind of incantation. Curses. Black magic or something.”

Gertie sucked in her breath, sounding like a fifty amp vacuum cleaner. “My word, child. That’s frightening. Maybe you should leave.”

“I can’t. It’s the first day we’re open to the public. We can’t afford to lose patrons.” The mayor really might shut the branch down if she couldn’t manage to attract patrons.

“Well, sit tight. I’ll have an officer come out and check it out right away.”

“Could you, Gertie? I’d be so grateful.”

“Of course, dear. That’s my job.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly Désirée wondered if Gertie was going to send Detective Bonner. No, that arrogant, boneheaded man would think he was too busy and important for a mere vandalism case.

“Do you want me to stay on the line until he gets there?”

“Well.”

The front door opened and the FedEx man strolled in with a package under his arm. Désirée’s heart skipped a beat. “No thank you, Gertie. Our first patron just came in.”

“Very well, dear. Good bye.”

“Good bye, Gertie. See you on Thursday.” She hung up and turned toward the FedEx man with a big smile. “Good morning.”

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy blonde hair. Handsome in a Dudley Do-Right sort of way. From the hours he used to hang around the old branch, Désirée assumed he was an avid reader. If he checked out a stack of books, that would allay everyone’s fears about the new branch.

He looked around, seeming a bit dazed. “Are you open yet?”

“Yes, we are.” Behind the desk, she straightened her shoulders, trying to look both official and alluring. If only he’d notice her hair or her new French manicure. “I’m glad you stopped by. What can I help you with?”

He took the package from under his arm and laid it on the desk. “I want to give you this. It’s from the French Riviera.”

“Really? I’m French, you know. On my father’s side.” She tapped her nails on the counter.

Suddenly, the FedEx man looked like he was about to cry. “You’re Désirée Devereaux, aren’t you? The one who used to work with Ada?”

“Yes.” Well. He knew Ms. Rawlings by her first name, but apparently hadn’t noticed her until just now. There was no hope for her new manicure.

His upper lip twitched. “You’re the one who found her body.”

“Yes. Right below the Agatha Christies.”

He frowned. “Huh?”

“The Mystery section. She died clasping a Stephanie Bond novel to her breast.” As ghastly as it was, it did sound romantic.

“Who?”

“You don’t know who Stephanie Bond is?” Maybe Mr. FedEx wasn’t her type after all.

“James Bond’s little sister?”

Désirée wanted to roll her eyes and was about to give him a lecture on the benefits of fiction reading when his eyes teared up.

He covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Ada, Ada.”

“Goodness, uh – what’s your name?”

“Fred. Fred Carson.”

“Goodness, Fred. I didn’t know you and Ms. Rawlings were that close.”

“Close? We were…” He took a handkerchief from his pants pocket, shook it out, and blew his nose, sounding a bit like a bullhorn. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Oh, Fred. I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe it either. Ms. Rawlings was so good to me.”

“Good? She was a saint. I worshipped the woman.”

“Worshipped? What do you mean, Fred?”

He daubed his eyes. “I mean we’ve been dating two months. And I was about to ask her to marry me.”

Désirée’s mouth fell open. Ms. Rawlings and the FedEx man? Her boss had never breathed a word. Désirée had assumed her only love interests could be found between the covers of a paperback. Until the man from the cruise.

“We were meant for each other. This package was for her. It’s a gift. Open it.”

Cautiously, Désirée got a scissors from the drawer, snipped at the tape and folded back the flaps, then the newspaper inside. “Oh my. It’s a clock.” She pulled it out and set it on the desk.

It looked like an antique. Made of swirling pink marble, it had little angels etched on it.

“The package isn’t really from the French Riviera. I just took some overseas labels and put them on the box. But the clock is French. And look.”

Fred turned a key at the side and it began to play a tune. Frère Jacques. Frère Jacques.

“It’s a music box, too. How beautiful.”

“I wanted to give to Ada, but I never got up the nerve.”

“She would have loved it.”

“Yes. Oh, Ms. Devereaux, I was in love with her. I thought she felt the same. Until she got the hair-brained idea to go off on that cruise with that other guy. What did he have that I didn’t? She met him on the Internet. The Internet! Do you know what kind of crazies there are out there? I begged her not to go. She wouldn’t listen. And now look what’s happened.” He wept into his hanky.

Oh dear, Désirée thought. She felt for Fred, but a weeping man at the front desk wasn’t going to help the library’s reputation.

“What am I going to do?” He put his head down on the counter and sobbed.

“Oh, Fred.”

Just then Giselle, the Kitteridge’s au pair, came in with the two young boys in her charge. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Devereaux,” she sang in that lovely voice of hers.

Wasn’t the French language delicious? Désirée thought. “Hello Giselle.” Then she saw where the au pair and the boys were headed. “Wait.”

She turned back to the FedEx man. “Fred, go sit down in the Periodicals and calm yourself. I’ll be back in a minute.” She snatched a ball of yellow yarn she’d intended for Deci off the desk and trotted toward the stacks. “Please don’t go back there, Giselle, boys.”

“But why, Mademoiselle? We came to look at zee books.”

“Yes, I know.” Désirée stepped around them and into the next row where the horrible scene was. She lowered her voice. “We’ve had another incident.”

Giselle slapped her chest. “Mai non!”

Désirée tied one end of the yarn to a book on one shelf and began to unwind the ball. “I’m afraid so, Giselle.”

Giselle peeked around the corner, her eyes wide. “Oh how terrible!” she cried when she saw the books piled on the floor. “Quelle horreur! Such desecration. Are you all right, Mademoiselle?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Désirée fixed the yarn to a book on the opposite shelf. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it was something. “I’ve already called the police. They should be here any-”

“Good morning.” Detective Dan Bonner stepped into the aisle, in all his tall, dark, and handsome glory. Gertie did send him. “Tampering with the evidence again, Ms. Devereaux?”

She wanted to spit. “No, Detective. Since the police were so slow in arriving, I’m securing the crime scene myself.”

He folded his arms across his husky chest. “With yarn?”

“The library doesn’t happen to carry police tape.”

“Well, you can stop now. I’m here.”

She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’ve already finished.”

His lip turned up in a half-grin that almost looked like admiration. He pointed down at the mess. “Looks like someone doesn’t like books. Are there any paperbacks this time?”

“No, these are all hard covers. Classics. We’re in the 135s. Dreams and Mysteries.”

“Too bad.”

She glared at him. “Why?”

“The Stephanie Bond book was great. That Carlotta. What a hoot.”

Ms. Rawlings’ Stephanie Bond? “You read the evidence?”

“In my official capacity.”

“And you’re accusing me of tampering?”

He shrugged. “Look, I’m the law around here.”

“Well,” Désirée huffed, “if you’re really interested in solving this case, you’ll listen to me this time.”

“What is it now?” He fixed her with those liquid brown eyes. Come to think of it, he was much better looking than Fred, the FedEx man.

“Come with me.” She took his hand and pulled him away from where Giselle and the boys were still standing and took a deep breath. “I don’t know whether you’ll think I’m crazy or that I compromised the evidence, but I promise you, Detective, I took extreme care –”

He held up a hand. “Just tell me what you did.”

“I examined the evidence.”

He scowled.

“I picked up some of the books with tissue, but I put them right back. Exactly where they were.”

He folded his arms. “And you did this why?”

“Because someone wrote in them. Defaced them.”

“Oh, yes. Gertie told me something about curses.”

“Exactly. So I took my pad and wrote down everything.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her notebook, and flipped it open. “Look. Have you ever seen such filthy language?”

He studied the page a moment. “Well, I’m a cop, so yeah. I’ve seen it and heard it.”

He was impossible. She gritted her teeth. “Well look at this one. It isn’t a swear word. It looks like some kind of incantation.”

Detective Bonner squinted at the page. “Incantation, huh?”

“See the letters? H, a backwards C. I’m not sure what the next character is. Then an I and what looks like a backwards B.”

His lip twitched as he took the pad from her and turned it around. “Maybe your vandal’s dyslexic.”

She stared down at the page and the word on it.

B I T C H.

Désirée’s cheeks flushed hot with humiliation. If she could, she would have thrown that arrogant, insulting detective out of her library right then and there.

He shrugged almost apologetically. “Sorry, Honey. I’m a cop. I need real evidence.”

“This is real evidence,” she growled. “This is the work of Ms. Rawlings’ killer.” Maybe it wasn’t black magic, but that ugly word was meant for her former boss. She knew it. She decided not to try to explain the auras she’d read off the books to him.

“Are you sure?”

“It happened just two days later.”

“That could be coincidence.”

No, it couldn’t. Not after the hatred and anger she’d felt both on the pages of these books and the Stephanie Bond. “Detective, aren’t you going to do something? Maybe there isn’t an incantation, but public property was still defaced.”

“You’re right. I’ll have to confiscate that pile. I’ll go out to the squad car and get a box.”

“What?”

“Be right back.”

As she watched Detective Bonehead saunter out the door, Désirée closed her eyes to keep from screaming. If this kept up, soon there’d be more books at the Sheriff’s Office than on the shelves at the library.

And all he’d be doing was reading them.

If only he’d listen to her. She was the one who knew—or could feel—the real killer. She was sure—dead sure, to use an ill-timed expression—that the killer had defaced those books. She’d sensed the same vicious emotions on those pages as she had on the Stephanie Bond. The person who destroyed those books was the same one who’d struggled with Ms. Rawlings three nights ago and murdered her. The same one who’d written Good Luck and Death Wishes on the last page.

Still, the detective had a point. She’d need real evidence to bring the killer to justice. And to figure out who he was. And why he did it.

Suddenly she thought of Fred, the Fed Ex guy, weeping his heart out, so upset Ms. Rawlings had left him and gone on a cruise with a man she met on the Internet. Jealous, jilted lover? It was a perfect motive.

“If it’s the last thing I do,” Désirée murmured to herself, “I’m going to prove who killed Ms. Rawlings.” And she bet she’d do it before Detective Bonehead deciphered his first clue.

Right now, she was going to put a book in Fred’s hand, so she could read the aura off it.

Donning her best librarian smile, she glided over to the Periodicals section. “Oh, Fred. I’m back.”

Then she stopped. Fred the FedEx man was nowhere to be seen. And the antique French clock music box he’d left on the counter was gone.

# # #

There’s that annoying Detective Bonner again. Tsk, tsk. And that FedEx man looks awfully suspicious to me. What do you think? Leave a comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card. Winners will be posted in the sidebar. We’ll give away our grand prizes on New Year’s Eve Day, so stay tuned…

Hello, PF&HT Readers!

It’s that time of year again. I’m not just talking about the holidays. I’m talking about another annual tradition— the Petit Four and Hot Tamales’ Group Novel.

Once again, we want to show you all how much we appreciate your support throughout the year by giving you a story. Last year, we presented you with our first paranormal romance, Merlin’s Daughter.

This year, we’ve cooked up a cozy mystery for your reading pleasure—The Undercover Librarian. Here’s your first clue:

Désirée Devereaux is not your average librarian. She can judge a book by its cover.  In fact, every time she picks up a book, she picks up vibes, flashes, emotions-even crimes committed by the last patron who checked it out. When Désirée’s boss, the Branch Manager,  turns up dead in the Mysteries section of the new branch of the Harrow County Public Library, Désirée is at the head of a list of suspects, which includes FedEx guy, Skirt Boy and a member of the Hookers.

Dead bodies start turning up all over the stacks and that spells Murder with a Capital M right here in Harrow County. But Hunky Detective Danny Bonner is on the case and as he gets close to Désirée, he begins to realize there’s more to the sexy librarian than meets the eye. This laugh-out-loud cozy mystery/romance is a suspenseful read you’ll definitely want to check out.

So what does all this entertainment cost? $24.95, like a hard cover book? $7.99, like a paperback at the grocery store? $4.99 like some eBooks? $0.99 like some other eBooks?

No. The Undercover Librarian is FREE! All you have to do is stop by during the last two weeks of the year. And…you might win a prize! We’re giving one away EVERY DAY and two final winners on December 31.

So see you all then. I can’t wait!

Daily Prize – $5 Amazon coupon
Final Winner #1 – Petit Fours and Hot Tamales cookbook
Final Winner #2 – $25 Amazon coupon

Final winners drawn on December 31. Good luck! What a way to say goodbye to 2011 and cheer in the New Year!

A few weeks ago, we were having a house guest and needed to do some serious cleaning. Being the chivalrous gentleman that he is, The Comedian pitched right in. (That’s my new name for hubby, because during any given conversation, he’s just as likely to turn into Snagglepuss or start doing a Harpo Marx routine, as to give you a straight answer.)

I won’t embarrass myself by telling you the gory details of the long list of jobs that needed to be tackled or the things we grunted and growled to each other about said tasks. Suffice it to say, there was a lot of “discussion” about how and in what order each chore should be handled. At last, we found a solution. We divided things up. (As in, we worked in separate areas of the house.)

I did the upstairs while he labored on the living room and kitchen downstairs. Everything was going smoothly for a while when my back started acting up. As some of you know, I suffer from a chronic hip-and-back condition which keeps me from doing a great deal of some physical activities, such as housecleaning. (Am I lucky or what?) When I started yelping with pain due to my erector spinae (or whatever it was) spasming as I vacuumed, The Comedian rushed upstairs and came to my rescue. I told you he was chivalrous.

He took the hose out of my hand. And then, somehow cleaning up became a test of manhood.

I heard everything from “let me do that for you,” to “pull my finger” jokes, to imaginary ideas about the vacuum extensions as a body part…

He made me laugh through the pain. And we got the house cleaned.

The best part was at the end of the day, when we sat down together in our clean living room, exhausted, and started explaining that during all that arguing, we each were just trying to help the other out. That was when hubby reminded me of our long-ago pact to tell each other “I love you” every day. I certainly felt it that day.

Hmm. Things are getting a little dusty around here. Maybe I can challenge hubby’s manhood again? Does your hubby help around the house? What’s it like when it’s over?

Isn’t it funny how you can admit things in blogs that you couldn’t even say to your best friend face to face?

Last week on Tami Brothers’ post about friends , I confessed that I had phone phobia. Except for my teen years, when I chatted to my friends as much as any other young girl, I’ve had a fear of talking on the phone ever since I can remember.

I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know what trauma caused it. Was it when my parents were trying to teach me phone etiquette and told me that I was rude for not stating my name, or following some other picky rule? Was it the feeling of mortification when I dialed the wrong number and got a grouchy old man whose dinner I’d interrupted, instead of my grandma? Who knows?

Apparently, I’m not the only one with this problem. I was surprised to learn that Wikipedia has an article on Telephone Phobia. It says:

“Sufferers typically report fear that they would fail to respond appropriately in a telephone conversation, and fear finding nothing to say, which would end in embarrassing silence, stammering, or stuttering. The associated avoidance behavior includes asking others (e.g. relatives at home) to take their phone calls and exclusive use of answering machines.”

Yep, that’s me. I’ve gotten better the last few years, but most of our marriage, I’ve made my husband do all the calling. And while many people complain about mechanical recordings when they call the bank or the gas company, I feel a wave of relief when I hear “Press 1 for English…” I guess it’s that I in INFP (the Myers-Briggs thing). If that letter weren’t already capitalized, it would be for me.

So what about you? What personality type are you? Are you afraid of the phone? Or do you have one glued to your ear all day? Do you crave the conversation of others? Or do you relish the quiet of solitude.

By the way, that article mentions an organization for sufferers that has free telephone support. Hmmm.

*  *  *
Smart-talking, pepper-eating Investigator in Training Miranda Steele dares to probe her own past with a visit to a therapist, while she investigates the murder of a troubled horse breeder, who before her death, was involved in tumultuous love triangle. Delicious Torment. $2.99 – Amazon, Smashwords, or Barnes & Noble