By Debbie Kaufman

I bet if I asked you what your main comfort food is, I’d hear a lot of the women say “chocolate.” But comfort foods are often more than what we first reach for during a stressful time.

Sometimes they are the foods that bring back memories of special times, like mom’s chicken and dumplings or grandma’s blueberry pancakes.

Sometimes they are a certain class of foods, desserts or anything carbohydrate spring to mind.

In the past few months I discovered my most basic, primitive comfort food need.  When thrown into one of the most stressful times of my life, I reached out and consumed one food item as if there was nothing else in the cupboards.

If you had asked me to think about what my most basic comfort food was, this food item would not have made the list of the top 100.   But sometimes things hide from us and don’t reveal themselves until moments like I experienced.

What was it I was eating to achieve “comfort?”

Strawberry jam.

Yep.  You read that right, strawberry jam.

Why?  I reached back into my memories and the closest I could come was the childhood grocery trips with my mother.  Like a lot of people, money was extremely tight growing up.  But when we had a little extra, my mom would take me with her and it was like someone let her loose with a platinum credit card in a NY shopping districts!  Having grown up during the depression, food was a real big deal to my mom.

My treat from those rare trips was a container of frozen strawberries.  I would always put them out to thaw when we got home, and later eat them straight from a bowl.  No ice cream, no toppings, just the sweet, slushy strawberries.

I don’t buy frozen, sweetened strawberries these days, but I later figured out that the jam I always keep on hand was its equivalent.  Hence jam on everything and even on a spoon (I know, gross…).

So think about it, folks.  What is your true comfort food?  Share with me and I’ll draw a name for a $10 Starbucks card from the comments!

About Debbie: Debbie Kaufman writes award-winning historical stories and enjoys spending time with her husband, her four children, her three grandchildren, and her two dogs.  Follow Debbie on Facebook, Twitter, or check out her website.

I am the gardening guru at my school, and with thirty-two raised garden beds, we have lots of space to grow new and enticing varieties of the standard spring fruits and vegetables. As an organic gardener, I find that it’s much safer, and infinitely more rewarding, to start our plants from seed.

But, oh, so many choices! I sent out an email to our gardening teachers inviting them to make their own selection of plants they’d like to grow in their classroom raised garden bed. As I was tallying the choices, I couldn’t help but get excited about the many and diverse varieties of tomatoes, peppers, squash, herbs, melons, corn and other vegetables we will be propagating from seed in just a few weeks.

The children will be watching for the first sign of green popping through the soil, waiting for the first leaves to form so that we can pop them under the fluorescent lights. Then we start the nurturing process—water, organic fertilizer, at least 14 hours of light, and a stable soil temperature for the growing root systems. At the same time, cold-hardy plants like spinach, peas, lettuce, broccoli and other brassicas will be directly seeded in the soil.

At last, the tender plants we’ve been growing inside can go out for a few hours at a time, getting a chance to “try out” the weather. In time they will stay outside overnight in the cold frame for a week or so to harden against the elements, getting ready for that shady afternoon when they are planted in the garden.

Unfortunately, not every plant will resemble the glossy picture on the cover of that seed catalogue we perused in December. And that “hardy producer” guaranteed to produce hundreds of pounds of delicious tomatoes may lose the battle against a lowly cutworm in the middle of the night. You pay your money (or plant the seed!) and take your chances.

This is where I am today. Planting that first seed in the garden of my self-publishing career. I’m optimistic that the time is right for my stories and my voice. I still carry that self-doubt that all writers do that the stories I want to tell, and how I write them, won’t resonate with a sufficient number of readers to make any money at it. But if you never put yourself out there, it’s a self-fulling prophesy. That I know, from experience.

So here goes! I hope you’ll follow my journey and will be sufficiently curious about my writing to give me a try. There will be a novella setting the stage for my Logan Springs series, and Carson’s story. I will re-release my first book, Sidelined by Love, with some changes, this spring, and Strike Three, You’re Mine will follow early this summer.

I hope you’ll come along for the ride!

For those commenting today, I am offering the chance to win a copy of When in Paris, a New Adult novel by my friend and fabulous author, Beverley Kendall. I read this book in one sitting…it is a phenomenal read!

Okay, no, it’s Wednesday. But have you ever had one of those Mondays that last all week long?

It started when I was trying to upload a cover picture for Lady Caroline and the Egotistical Earl for a print book. Wait, back up. It started when I tried to upload the interior part of the book. First, they’re telling me I need high-speed Internet. I could have told them I needed it too! But out in the country, we’re not getting it. At least satellite is faster than dial-up!

So then I finally get it uploaded and I forgot to put my name on the copyright page! Argh! So I had to change the mss, turn it back into PDF and resubmit it. Which after several hundreds of tries and just as many taunts of: you need to have a high-speed Internet, which I totally agree with and I ain’t getting, I finally, finally get it to upload. There are two mistakes in the formatting.

You know where this is going, right? Luckily, I was able to fix one without reloading the mss. Then I check it again. “Now you have one mistake.”

I don’t normally grind my teeth, but I’m beginning to. I try to figure out why it keeps saying that I haven’t embedded my fonts. They’re embedded, all right?

I try to upload a DOC file instead, but that’s even worse as far as speed to upload than PDF and it won’t work at all.

But then I realize the place I was looking on the SAVE AS for PDF file had a different option location, and that’s where the embedded file thingy was and so I fixed it. And then, with baited breath, I tried to upload the file, KNOWING that it would tell me I should have high-speed Internet, that I totally agree with, and of course it did. Many, many times. It hangs up, tries to do it again, then hangs up permanently with this message in bright red letters as if taunting me.

And I’m really waiting, holding my breath, really, really, really, as the percentage is going up and up and up. Now, it had made it to 75% before it crashed once, and most the time never made it past 40%. So it’s to 80%, 90%, 91% and I’m thinking hold on, baby! Satellite service you can do it! You can do it! And it reaches 99% and holds… I’m still holding my breath. Oh, please, oh, please, oh, pleeeeassse upload it this time and I promise this will be the last time. As long as it all looks fine.

And it does it! Woohoo!!!

And now it’s time for the cover. The title and my name are off the grid, AND it’s low quality photo. Wait. Okay, I can see that the title and stuff doesn’t fit into the grid, but the photo quality? They are the highest I can have. Soooo, I go back in and fix the title stuff and reload.

Now, I have to say that it takes a LONG time to upload, but at least I don’t have error messages that tell me I have to have high-speed Internet. But the quality says it’s still low, need 300 dpi, which I had, so *sigh* It looks great on the big picture viewer, and it seems I had this trouble before with it saying it wouldn’t work and the cover looks super!

Which means I’ll buy a proof and see for myself.

And then it’s time to upload the newer version for Kindle and Nook and Smashwords.

So you see, I’ve been at this for two days!!! And I’m still not THERE. But that’s okay. I love trying new things, learning new things, and now I can dive into the topic of trying out a new shifter series beginning with SAVAGE HUNGER!

When my editor wanted me to write something beyond wolves, I balked. I love the wolves! They’re perfect for romance. They’re hot. Why do you think they call guys that are hot…wolves? Yep. And they are devoted to family, mate for life, protective…so, I mean, what could be better than that? Plus, I have new readership all the time.

Yes, yes, yes, my editor knows this. She still wanted me to come up with something different. Okay. Wolves in the historical past? I LOVE writing and reading historical romance.

No.

Time travel? I LOVE time travels! Combing the past and the present!

No.

I think I suggested some other ideas, but nothing was flying. Okay, what is like a wolf, but not like a wolf?

I’d always had the idea of cat and dog fights. Let me first preface to say that wolves don’t like to ever be referred to as dogs. Just saying.

But I was thinking: what about a big cat shifter? I had been fascinated when I was a kid by the story about the black panther from South America and how she loved a man, but was hunting a woman who got interested in her man. Her brother was in the zoo, or something. He was also a cat shifter. Can’t remember. One of the scenes I recall was her hunting the woman in the swimming pool. The big cats LOVE to swim. And they’re very good hunters in the water.

So I thought—how about jaguars? I wanted a cat that lived close to the States so they could visit the jungle to revisit their more primal nature. But I wanted something that was exotic too, so for now, cougars were out. Besides, you know what readers would say when I said that I had cougars in the story? Yeah, the guy is a boy toy. Not saying that’s bad, just that I wouldn’t want to alarm someone who thought they were going to be reading about some older woman who fell in love with a young hunk, and instead, they started shifting into furry mountain lions.

And that was it! Jaguars, hot and sexy, and like wolves, protective, territorial, and fun!

Thanks so much for having me here at Petit Fours and Hot Tamales! If you’re looking for some jungle loving, check out SAVAGE HUNGER, first in the jaguar shifter series!

About the Author

USA Today bestselling and an award-winning author of urban fantasy and medieval romantic suspense, Terry Spear also writes true stories for adult and young adult audiences. She’s a retired lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army Reserves and has an MBA from Monmouth University. She also creates award-winning teddy bears, Wilde & Woolly Bears, that are personalized that have found homes all over the world. When she’s not writing or making bears, she’s teaching online writing courses or gardening. Her family has roots in the Highlands of Scotland where her love of all things Scottish came into being. Originally from California, she’s lived in eight states and now resides in the heart of Texas. She is the author of the Heart of the Wolf series and the Heart of the Jaguar series, plus numerous other paranormal romance and historical romance novels. For more information, please visit http://www.terryspear.com/, her BLOG or follow her on Twitter, @TerrySpear. She is also on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/terry.spear.

Contest

Terry has graciously offered one lucky commenter a copy of one of her books (winner’s choice), USA address only for print books. Note: Savage Hunger will not ship until October. If winner is outside USA, winner may choose one of Terry’s many Indie e-books.

Welcome! We invite you to travel with us. Whether to exotic locations or our own backyards, come on a journey and visit our next destination.

Where was this picture taken?
Make a guess in the comment section below for a chance to win a $5 gift card to Amazon or Starbucks, your choice.
All correct guesses will be put in a drawing to win.

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!

Good Luck and Death Wishes

The last thing Désirée Devereaux needed was trouble on her first day in charge at the opening of the newest library branch in Harrow County, Georgia. But as she unlocked the door, turned on the lights and sniffed the stale, climate-controlled air in the empty facility, she sensed something was terribly wrong.

Instead of the wonderful scent of new book smells, she was overwhelmed by a tinny aroma. The mid-morning sun was rising in the sky and the air felt ripe with the foul smell. Maybe the exterminator had been there over the weekend.

Her boss, Ada Rawlings, was away for two weeks on a much-needed vacation and was probably reading a romance novel on an ocean liner somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean. Miss Rawlings had signed up for a singles cruise in search of love. In her absence, she had promoted Désirée to assistant head librarian.

Désirée began to walk the stacks. Her new high heels clicked on the hardwood floors and slipped quietly onto the carpet.

She passed the fiction and nonfiction aisles, 000-999. The putrid smell was growing more powerful. Désirée followed her nose past the Biographies aisle, which took up an entire row, and saw nothing out of order.

Then she headed for Dreams and Mystery—135—her favorite section in nonfiction, under Paranormal phenomena. As she rounded the corner into Mysteries, past the real-life mysteries—The Lindbergh baby kidnapping and such—and famous crimes—363 and 364—she nearly tripped and stumbled and reached for a metal divider to keep her balance. Miss Rawlings must have left a stool in the aisle Friday night before she locked up. Perhaps she was placing a book on the shelf, making sure everything was ship-shape for the opening before she left on her cruise.

When Désirée looked up, she found herself in MYSTERY CHR, Agatha Christie, one of her best-loved authors. When she looked down, she found something far more sinister—a dead body, lying in a pool of blood that had already soaked through the brand-new beige institutional carpet.

Désirée gasped. She raised the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from retching and suffered a sucker punch to her gut. The victim wasn’t a stranger. It was none other than Ada Rawlings, clutching Stephanie Bond’s latest romance paperback in her hand, which she was most likely ready to check out and enjoy on her cruise.

Not everyone got along with Ada Rawlings, but she had chosen Désirée from a long list of candidates for the job at her library branch. Miss Rawlings had taken a chance on her, and for that, Désirée would always be grateful.

Had Miss Rawlings accidentally tripped and hit her head on the edge of a sharp shelf? Or had she been brutally murdered? Had the killer surprised Miss Rawlings or had she known her assailant? Why had the killer chosen this particular library? Why the new branch? Was the murderer a patron? More to the point, was the murderer still in the stacks, lying in wait in the 921’s, for his next victim?

Désirée needed to call 911 but she remained frozen in front of the body. Gingerly, she stooped down and pried the blood-soaked paperback from Miss Rawlings’ rigid, naked hand. Miss Rawlings had had such high hopes for her time on the high seas. She’d confided to Désirée that she expected to come back with a ring on her finger and a fiancé.

She opened the paperback. Désirée was a book whisperer. The books talked to her. Each book had its own story, embellished by the previous patron who had checked it out. When she emptied the book drop and scanned the books to check them in, she felt the vibes they emitted: an angry argument between husband and wife over finances; a child’s hungry cry; the rattle of dishes in a busy kitchen; a mother’s calming voice soothing a cranky child as she read the opening of a fairy story.

Désirée squeezed her eyes shut to block out the body in front of her and concentrated on the page prints. This tale was a bloody nightmare.

The page prints were noisy. There had been a desperate struggle. The spirit of an overpowering evil presence filled the empty rows of books, uncorked like a genie from a bottle. There were words, nasty words slammed like a slingshot to hit their target. And fear. She could almost smell it in the book, in the air. First shock and betrayal, then screams, followed by pleas for mercy. A flash of steel. Flesh violated. Gurgling, gasping sounds. Final breaths. And then cold silence.

Désirée skimmed through the pages of the paperback until she found the words scrawled on the very last page.

“Good Luck and Death Wishes.”

Désirée recoiled from the killer’s twisted play on what should have been happy words, glad tidings before a bon voyage – “Good Luck and Best Wishes.”

She grasped the book tightly in her hands to keep from fainting. Inching backwards, away from the body, she steadied herself on the shelf behind her. This incident would not reflect well on her, even though it wasn’t Désirée’s fault that a dead body had been found on her watch.

Miss Rawlings would be very upset. Who knew what she’d do? Désirée blinked away the tears, realizing that Miss Rawlings wouldn’t do anything, ever again.

Désirée walked back to the office and with shaky fingers managed to dialed 911. The closest police station was thirty minutes away. Harrow County’s newest library branch was in the boondocks, on the fringes of the suburbs, in what could barely be considered civilization.

The newest county library stood between the Pentecostal Church and the cemetery, which was convenient, since a person could get prayed over and put into the ground, all in a two-block radius. Then down the street, they could reminisce about the dearly departed at the Blue Crab Café. There were more people buried in the county cemetery than currently lived in the town.

Désirée sank into a chair at the wooden table in the center of the library, laid down her head and waited for help to come.

Help came in the form of one Detective Danny Bonner, who, under different circumstances, Désirée would have found attractive. He was a big man, tall, powerfully muscled, unshaven, his fierce demeanor softened only by the twinkle in his large brown eyes. When he flashed his shield, she noticed he was packing a firearm, which she didn’t find the least bit reassuring. Detective Bonner looked like the kind of man with an itchy trigger finger. He sure could catch a football. She had been to every one of his high school games. She doubted he even knew she existed. If he did, his poker face wasn’t displaying even a flicker of recognition.

Désirée started to lead Detective Bonner over to the stacks where the body was located, when she tripped and found herself anchored in his strong arms. Apparently, he was also used to catching swooning women.

“Is there something wrong with your feet?” he asked.

“I’m a bit wobbly. I’m not used to these high heels.”

“Are those Jimmy Choos?” he guessed.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I have three sisters who love to shop.”

“Hey, look, do you have some ID?” he asked, as he returned her to a standing position.

Désirée walked carefully around the circulation area back to the office to get her purse, which she’d stuffed into the drawer of her desk. Detective Bonner followed. She removed her wallet and handed him her driver’s license.

“Désirée Devereaux,” he read. “What kind of a name is that?”
“French. My mother loves anything French, including my father; at least she did before their divorce.”

“Désirée Devereaux is a lousy name for a librarian,” he said.

“Why do you say that?”

“First of all, it doesn’t fit your profession. Aren’t librarians supposed to be named Marian?”

“That’s not original, so just drop it or else-”

“Or else, what? We’ll have Trouble right here in River City. Trouble with a capital T? What do people call you – Desi? ‘Hey Desi, where’s Lucy?’”

Désirée rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, but you just don’t strike me as a Désirée,” he explained. “When I think of Désirée, I think of flouncy lingerie, you know, intimate apparel. Unless you’re wearing some of that under that dress.”

Désirée blushed. Her usual undergarments came packaged from Jockey and even that was a stretch.

Detective Bonner gave her a long, languorous appraisal.

“What you’re trying to say is Désirée is sexy, fun and playful and I’m none of those things.”

“You said it, not me. It just sounds a little pretentious, like it belongs to a glamorous movie star or a sultry stripper, anything but a librarian. Can you just picture yourself being wheeled around in a nursing home in fifty years, along with the other Tiffany’s, Brittany’s and Aynsleys?”

She wasn’t going to give Detective Danny Bonner the satisfaction of knowing she found that image hilarious.

The name Désirée was an asset in the Internet dating world. However, once the prospective match actually met her, the dates never lasted very long. The men simply couldn’t reconcile the promising profile and naughty name with the face that had too many freckles, the mousey brown hair and the body that wasn’t slim enough for their tastes.

“You’ve changed,” he accused, staring at her license photo. “What did you do to your hair?”

“I got it cut, but I don’t see what that has to do with the investigation.”

What she didn’t tell him was that she’d spent half a day and half her weekly paycheck yesterday at a high-priced salon, getting her hair colored and submitting to a Keratin treatment (how very French). She’d walked out with straight, sleek, dark hair, a beauty makeover to cover the freckles and highlight what her friends called her most compelling feature, her sea-green eyes, a French manicure (of course) and a pedicure.

And she certainly didn’t tell him she had lingered at the mall and brought home shopping bags full of form-fitting clothes and lacy unmentionables, followed by a magnificent pair of fashionable, if uncomfortable, shoes.

She definitely didn’t divulge the reason why she had gone to such expense—so she could be transformed into an alluring new woman with a new attitude that the FedEx Guy, a particularly sexy patron and her secret crush, could not ignore. She was a sucker for a man in uniform.

“It’s out of place,” said Detective Bonner. “When something is out of place, you generally have to pay particular attention to it. What about your freckles? Where did they go?”

“The case of the missing freckles,” Désirée stated with a straight face.

Detective Bonner was not smiling.

“They’re still there. I covered them with makeup.”

“Speaking of touch-ups, did you touch anything when you came in this morning?”

“Well, I did pick up the book Miss Rawlings, uh, the victim, was holding in her hand. It was the new Stephanie Bond.”

“I don’t care if it was a James Bond. I wish you hadn’t done that, Ms. Devereaux. These books are evidence. We have to cart them down to the station.”

“There’s a clue here. The killer wrote something at the back of the book. Here, I’ll show you.”

“Are you a detective as well as a librarian, Ms. Devereaux?”

“No. I just thought you might be interested.”

“When I need your help with this investigation, I’ll let you know.”

Désirée blanched. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Then what possessed you to pick up that book?” Detective Bonner chided.

“It’s what I do. Books don’t belong on the floor. And they don’t belong at a police station. They’re here for the enjoyment of the patrons.”

“They’re now the property of the Harrow County Sheriff’s Department, until further notice.”

“You can’t remove these books. Patrons are waiting for them.”

“Well they’ll just have to wait a little longer. This library is a crime scene. Nobody gets in or out of this building without my approval. My men are outside right now, covering the entrance with crime scene tape.”

“You can’t do that,” Désirée scowled. “This is opening day. We’re expecting a lot of visitors.”

“They’ll have to come back. As soon as we process the books for prints, we’ll return them to you.”

“Be careful of the spines,” Désirée cautioned weakly, swaying as she remembered the blood on Poor Ada Rawling’s body. “They’re very fragile.” Tears streamed down Désirée’s face, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She wasn’t going to break down in front of this insensitive brute.

“Did you know the victim?” Detective Bonner asked.

“Yes, she was my boss, Ada Rawlings. She was supposed to be on a cruise. It was her dream trip. She was hoping to meet someone.”

“Someone she knew?”

“She’d been talking to a man on the Internet and they were finally going to meet on the cruise. It was all very romantic–two strangers meeting out on the open seas, under the stars.”

“It sounds like an ill-advised scheme to me. I’ll need his name, if you know it, and anything else you can tell me about him, and the home address of the victim. I’ll need to see her home computer and the computer in her office. Was the victim married?”

“No, that’s why she was going on a singles cruise.”

“So, she was a spinster.”

“That’s a cruel way of putting it.”

Detective Bonner ignored Désirée and started scribbling notes on his pad.

“Have there been any other incidents at this library?”

“We haven’t even opened.”

“Did the victim have any enemies?”

“Not that I know of. She was a librarian.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Detective Bonner. “What about the property?”

“It was formerly pasture land, owned by a Mr. Howard Bennett. He and his wife retired to Florida and sold the land to the county.”

“You notice any weirdos hanging around the library? Regulars? Unusual people?”

“I told you we haven’t even opened.”

“At the old branch, then.”

“Well, there are the Hookers.”

His brow rose. “Prostitutes hang out at the public library?”

“Not those kind of hookers. They’re a group of women who come to the library to crochet once a week in the Quiet Room.”

“What about perverts, have you noticed any of them?”

“Adults are allowed unfiltered sessions on the Internet. They can access MySpace and Facebook and Twitter. If we notice them accessing any unsavory sites, we ask them to leave.”

“Who else?”

“Well, there’s Skirt Boy, but he’s harmless.”

“Skirt boy?”

“That’s just a name we call him. He wears a skirt and a Tee-shirt and hangs out with an au pair who takes care of two kids. We think he sleeps in the empty lot next door in the shed at the old branch.”

“I’ll need you to describe where that shed is later on.”

“Some patrons come into the library to catch up on their sleep, or in between appointments, on their lunch hours, like-” Desiree hesitated.

“What were you going to say?”

“Like the FedEx guy.”
“What about the FedEx guy?”

“There’s this FedEx guy who stops by on his lunch hour to surf the net and read books.”

“FedEx, hmmm. No wonder we never get our packages on time. I need to call this in. Does FedEx Guy have a name?”

Désirée nodded and pulled up the name on her computer. But of course she already knew his name. She had checked out books for him many times and she had checked him out at the same time. She fantasized about the look on FedEx Guy’s face when he got an eyeful of the new, improved Désirée Devereaux.

FedEx Guy spent his lunch hour almost every day at the old branch, reading thrillers and mysteries. FedEx guy was a mystery himself.

They hadn’t really talked yet. Désirée often recommended books to FedEx Guy. Read-Alikes. If you like John Grisham, try David Baldacci or Greg Iles. But today she had planned to initiate a real conversation, albeit in hushed tones. This was a library, after all. If he followed her to the new branch.

The detective pulled out his cell phone.

“You can’t use a cell phone in here. That’s a rule.”

“You are a piece of work, lady. This is a murder scene. All your rules are officially out the window.”

Désirée bristled. The guy would be cute if he weren’t so gruff.

“Anything else? Any disturbances?”

“Well, once the police came when they got a phone call from a pay phone in the library that this girl’s boyfriend was going to commit suicide, so she called the sheriff.”

“Don’t hold back.”

“And once a life flight helicopter landed at the library to pick up an injured man in the parking lot.”

“You seem to have an affinity for mayhem, Miss Devereaux,” said Detective Bonner.

Strange and sometimes wondrous things did seem to happen on Desiree’s watch. There was the time when Miss Rawlings had an early morning doctor’s appointment, and Désirée had offered to open the library. While pulling the holds patrons had requested, she’d discovered a stray kitten, hungry and mewling. Désirée had taken a dish from the break room, filled it with water and watched while the kitten lapped up the whole bowl. And she’d bought some cat food during her lunch break for the tiniest librarian, whom she’d named Deci, after the Dewey decimal system. Deci was now a permanent fixture in the library.

Désirée had posted a note in the branch and was ecstatic when no one claimed the kitten after the proper waiting time had passed. The staff had officially adopted Deci, who was a favorite with young patrons, as their new mascot. Deci was at home today, but Désirée planned to bring her into the new branch later in the week.

“Do you have anything else to report? If not, then kindly get out of my way and let me do my job.”

“I can help you,” Désirée offered. “I read page prints.”

“Page prints? Is that some kind of Braille?”

“Patrons leave traces of themselves in the books they’ve checked out,” Désirée explained. “And the killer might have left a clue if he returned a book in our chute last night. People typically leave photos, letters, cards, bookmarks, receipts, airline tickets and other personal things behind. Once I even found a piece of ham.”

“Did you eat it?’

“No, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Of course not.” Detective Bonner smirked. “It’s probably against the rules.”

Desiree frowned.

“I was just joking, Miss Devereaux. And the sheriff’s office is perfectly capable of finding its own clues. We don’t need any part-time palm readers.”

“I said I’m a page print reader, not a palm reader, although you shouldn’t discount that profession. I’m just saying that you might be able to tell if the killer checked out a book about crime, or serial murders, or mysteries. Especially if you don’t have any leads. And I think it’s telling that the body was placed in the Mystery section. We certainly have a mystery on our hands. Now if it had been left in the History section, that would be a different story. History flows like water. You can try to dam it up, but eventually-”

“Are you always this talkative? Do you feel compelled to spew forth everything that’s on your mind?”
“You asked me a question.”

“Thank you, Miss Devereaux. But there’s no need to elaborate. Just answer the question.”

“Just the facts, ma’am, right?”

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

“Bonehead,” she muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Bonner, I said Bonner, Detective Bonner.”

“What about the other staff? Do any of them have a beef against the victim?”

“They hardly know her. Some of them have never met her. They were transferred from other branches in the county to pick up the slack. The county had enough money to build the new branch and stock it with books, but there was no money left over for staff. So we’re all volunteering to work overtime to staff the newest branch.”

“That must have caused some resentment.”

“Not enough to kill over.”

“I’ll need the names of the other employees.”

“Some of them are part-time.”

“All the names,” he ordered. “Then you’re free to go, but don’t leave Harrow County.”

Maybe she looked like the traveling type but the truth was she’d never been out of the country. She didn’t even own a passport. She traveled the world in books.

“I have a lot of work to do before we open,” Désirée protested.

“Maybe you weren’t listening. This branch is not open for business. Not until we solve this murder. And I’m going to need your prints. And I don’t mean your page prints. I’m not ruling you out as a suspect.”

###

Who killed Ada Rawlings and wrote those awful words in the book? And what’s up with this Detective Bonner? Tune in tomorrow and find out more.

In the meantime, leave a comment to win a $5 Amazon coupon and be entered in our final drawing.

I hereby interrupt regular programming on this blog to SQUEEEeeeeeee!!!  a little bit and Snoopy dance around the room. 

“Why,” you ask?

Y’all, Bittersweet Obsessions’ release date of June 1st is only 4 itsy-bitsy days away! As of June 1st, anyone in the world who buys and downloads it from Red Sage can read my story of love lost, love found, a marriage strengthened and all the sexy-hot happenings in between.

How can it contain all that? Bittersweet Obsessions has not one, but two romances. It’s a contemporary alternate reality with light paranormal and sci-fi elements. Imagine, if you will, an alien race living among us today, so like Humans that intermingling of the races is possible, yet they also communicate telepathically. This is the world I’ve created with my Crainesian characters.

Blurb:

When it comes to love, they believe in one perfect mate,
but putting the centuries-old belief to the test
could bring them everything they desire.

In a culture where it’s believed each person has only one life-mate, what happens when yours is beyond your reach? Teriza feels the mating call to a man married to a Human. Unwilling to be the cause of infidelity, Teriza distances herself from her mate after an intense pheromone-charged encounter that leaves her in precarious health. She requires treatment and is sent to a clinic in Switzerland, where sexual surrogates are employed to heal such conditions.

After Paul Craddock’s life-mate died, he turned to surrogacy to ease the pain of loneliness. His reaction to Teriza surprises him by being more than a casual attraction. He’s intrigued to discover she feels the same. They experiment with the Human way of courtship, but the ultimate bond that Crainesians experience eludes them.

Teriza fears Paul can’t be content with her since he’s experienced heartglow during his previous marriage. Paul worries he’s Teriza’s consolation prize, good enough, but not her first choice. They’re falling in love in uncharted territory, without the engulfing pheromone storm of life-mates to guide them. Will they learn to trust their feelings and listen to their hearts before it’s too late?

Click here to read an excerpt.

For marketing reasons, I’m curious about how tags and labels affect the sales of a book/e-book. The following tags/labels are associated with my Crainesian works: romance, erotic, paranormal, sci-fi, sensual, telepathy, sexy, contemporary, hot. Which of those might give you reason to question whether this is your kind of read, and why? Don’t be shy! Believe me, I won’t be offended if it’s not your kind of read. We all have different tastes.

One lucky commenter today will win a download of Bittersweet Obsessions, PLUS a download of my Crainesian short story, Insight!

And the SWF part? Well, that’s where my SUPPORTIVE WRITER FRIENDS here on PFHT come in. During the move, they’ve all been wonderfully SUPPORTIVE of me, indulging my absences, my tardiness with posting and getting some of the behind the scenes stuff done on the blog. On our private loop where we share news and get business done, they’ve cheered me on as I sold a book (Bittersweet Obsessions to Red Sage) and debated the pros and cons of a pen name (Annie Rayburn). They’ve celebrated with me as I turned in edits, was notified of my release date (June 1st!), and applauded the first draft of my cover art. Here’s the final version:

What do you think?

A big THANK YOU goes to my PFHT sisters for being who they are–each one a treasure–and for their support and indulgence. While I still have some unpacking and settling in to do, I’m mostly back and carving out time each day for writing and blogging.

Oh, and before I forget, while I’ve been MIA, big happenings have been going on. We’ve given away a lot of prizes this year, especially during our January anniversary celebration, but we wanted to do more. Hence, the PFHT Recipe for Success Write-Off going on now. If you’re a writer, don’t miss out on the chance to have a literary agent critique your work. Check out yesterday’s post and our Contest page for more information and enter to win!

March is going to be one crazy month here at the PF&HTs blog.  Take a look at our contest page for an advance notice on the Recipe for Success Write-Offwe are hosting.

http://petitfoursandhottamales.com/contest/

“The grand prize winner will receive a critique (consisting of a read of the first 20 pages of an unpublished manuscript and a two-page synopsis) from Literary Agent Chelsea Gilmore of the Maria Carvainis Agency.”

Check back tomorrow (MARCH 2^nd) for the rules AND the official starting date for this wonderful opportunity!

A Budget Reevaluated

By Tami Brothers 

Husband: “How are we broke? There is still money in the checkbook.”

The Kid: “Can I get a raise in my allowance?”

This year started out with a complete reevaluation of our family budget and expenditures.  For a family who has been living paycheck to paycheck the past few years as we completed our education and started new careers (not our choice {darn economy} but something that worked out better in the end…), our budget was already pretty bare bones.  Now that we are finally on the upside of this major life change for both my husband and myself, we needed to add in a few things that we’ve put on the back burner and cut some things out completely to make this reevaluation work.

In January I created an Excel spreadsheet that lists literally everything we spend money on; from monthly bills, to gas fill-ups, to dog/cat food, to haircuts and groceries.  We even have one that lists The Kid’s lunches, afterschool activities, snacks and allowance.  When I showed this to the guys, The Kid piped up and said, “Why is my column so small?  I think I need a raise.” (ya right!)

This was the bare bones part. 

One of the things I’ve learned over the past twenty something years is that even if you have a job you love, you need to work to live and NOT live to work.  Easy to say, but hard as heck to do.  With this in mind, we added some new columns to the budget.  Things like a monthly clothing allowance, summer camp projections, vacation and holiday savings, Starbucks runs (man, I have missed those!), rainy day savings, and a few other small projects we’ve put off. 

These columns have a specific amount that is deducted each month from the overall account totals. To answer my husband’s questions, yes, we do have money in the account; but each dollar is designated to a specific column.  One column may have a zero balance, while another is quite large.  Regardless of the balances, that doesn’t mean we can rob from Peter to pay Paul.  Okay, so it looks like we are spending more money with this system. Not really.  Instead, we are cutting out a lot of frivolous spending we had been doing when we didn’t have a plan in place.

Does this kind of system work for everyone?  The answer is no. This never would have worked for us the past five years and in fact, we haven’t been able to stay out of those other columns yet.  BUT we are on our way.  It will take a few more months and many more tweaks to make this work.  It will also be more than a year before we can determine if our pay off schedule is on track.  Still, this is a track-able plan and (if I do say so myself) a good one for us.

With our reevaluation of space and downsizing already in progress, stop back Tuesday, March 29^th to see how we’ve implemented this mindset into our hobbies and collections.  Here is a sneak peek into the family mindset on this – It isn’t pretty…

Since I have a budget for it, I’d love to share a cup of coffee with one lucky commenter today.  Leave a comment and I’ll draw a random winner first thing tomorrow morning.

Cheers!

Tami

Two Weeks Later

“Welcome home, daughter!” Merlin’s voice seemed to echo in the long room where two places were set at one end of an immense table.

“You realize that it’s going to take me a while to get used to this life,” Lydia said, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth, even as she dragged her eyes from his face to glace at the grandeur of the dining hall.

Tapestry drapes hung along the walls with lit torches held in brackets spaced in between to light the great room. The table was massive, easily able to seat twenty people with chairs bold enough to hold even the largest man in comfort, but comfortable enough for the most delicate of ladies. At the end, behind the head seat where Merlin sat, portraits hung. She’d have to ask him about her ancestors.

Merlin waved a hand in dismissal. “By the time you finish your training with the Force, you’ll almost have forgotten your other life.” His robe fanned out as he sat, leaving her to close the short distance and take the seat at his right.

The dishes were elegantly carved silver and filled with an array of her favorite breakfast foods. Between them was a platter filled with fresh fruit, some with which she was unfamiliar, but all looking delectable. Every turn in this world called out to her sense of adventure. So many new things to see and touch and taste.

“Yes, and so many new things that would love to do you harm,” her father added.

Lydia’s eyes snapped back to her father. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I hate everyone reading my thoughts…and that includes you…Father.”

His laughter roared up from his belly and burst out as he threw his head back, his long white hair settling back into position on his shoulders. “I have no doubt about that, but don’t despair, you’ll learn to block it, allowing in only the ones you trust…and the few you love.”

She knew in her head and accepted in her heart that this man was her father, so it was eerie to have him refer to her loving someone. Had he already read her thoughts about Jackson? Of course he had, but was that what he was referring to?

“So, the trial is over?” His eyes glistened with knowledge. “Did you win?”

“Of course, I won. The judge slapped Courtland Enterprises with fines into the millions for poisoning Chattahoochee Creek. Not to mention the cleanup costs.”

“And how did Heath Courtland take that decision?”

As if her father didn’t know. “I don’t know. He . . . uh . . . disappeared right after the trial. The judge has a bench warrant out on him.”

“Ah, I see,” he said with a sly grin. He probably knew more about her strange experience in the courtroom than she did. “Still, it was a moment of triumph for you. How did it feel?”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes closing momentarily in pleasure as she savored the feeling of defeating the evil wizard. “It was…delicious,” she breathed out in a reverent whisper.

Again, Merlin’s laugh showered her with goose bumps along her thinly clad arms. “I wish you could have been there to see his face,” she chuckled.

“I was.”

“You were?”

“Of course, my dear. No parent wants to miss the show when his child has the starring role. You were magnificent.”

Yes, he was there. And so was Aunt Marsala. And James and Palmer and Allison. And Jackson. She’d felt them all. She sighed and looked into her father’s eyes. His gaze sent an aura of warmth around her like his arms had wrapped her tight. She would have to get used to this world being more about the senses. Things weren’t always physical.

As they began to eat, she started down the long list of questions that she had been wondering about.

“Father, do you know who betrayed me? Who allowed the portal for Heath to be able to slip past the other guards?”

“Oh, yes, I know. While you were in the other world wrapping up the final details there, I dispatched The Force to find the one responsible and they were successful in learning who left the channel open, but, alas, he has vanished.”

“He’s still out there?” Her hand stilled, the slice of bacon halfway to her mouth. She wondered if the traitor and Heath would find each other.

“Yes, but I have a plan to capture him.”

“You do? Tell me.”

“You will be told in due time. So let’s get to the next question in your mind.”

Lydia frowned slightly. “Okay, at least tell me if it was one of my three friends. Was it Allison, James or Palmer?” She held her breath. She couldn’t imagine any of them being responsible, but…

“No, my dear. Your friends are loyal subjects. I personally hand-picked them following several hundred years of service in The Force.”

Several hundred years? That was another thing she had to get used to…not everything was as it appeared.

When Merlin chuckled, she knew he had read her thoughts…again.

“So,” she said, shaking herself and getting her thoughts back on the short list of things she needed immediate answers to. “When do I start my training?”

“Tomorrow. Tonight we celebrate your birthday with a huge party here in The Hall, and tomorrow I turn you over to my trusted instructor who will begin to teach you the ways and fill you in on history. In your class training, as it might be considered, you will be instructed in the art of magic and then I will finish out your training to instruct you on your place as my daughter and as a member of the Round Table.”

“So I won’t be a member until I finish the training?”

“That is correct,” he said just before he bit into a warm, buttery cinnamon roll, closing his eyes as he chewed.

“How long will the training take?”

“A year.”

A year seemed like a long time to be in training for a position, yet there was so much to learn that it seemed a daunting task to cram it all into only a year.

“Don’t fret, my daughter. You are intelligent and you learn quickly…and you have the inner strength to accomplish all the tasks assigned to you.”

“Tasks?”

“I’ll get to that later.”

Urgggg, she hated being kept in the dark.

Merlin chuckled as he lifted the challis and drank deeply. “I understand your frustration, my daughter. I too, was young once.”

“I find that hard to imagine,” she muttered. Why not say what was on her mind when he could ‘hear’ her anyway?

When he stopped laughing, he leaned forward slightly, pointing with his knife. “I understand that you talked with the trees.” Pride beamed from his eyes, showering her with love and warmth.

“Well, I could hear them talking to me, but I didn’t talk back.”

“That will come, but I must warn you that they’re a regal bunch. They prefer to be asked for their assistance versus being told. Much like yourself, right?”

She smiled, dropping her eyes to her plate as she continued to eat, the silence between them sitting over the room like a fluffy cloud on a warm summer day.

When she was almost finished, she “heard” him speak to her.

“So, what about your other questions?”

When she glanced up, he was still looking down, eating the last of the food on his plate. She cleared her throat and leaned back in her high-backed chair. “You know I have more questions, but I’ve come to the conclusion that you won’t disclose anything until you think I’m ready to hear it. Am I right?”

Merlin raised his regal head, his white hair settling gently back from his face. “You are most perceptive; however I think you must ask your questions.”

She sighed as she laid her fork on the edge of her plate. “Okay, I’ll ask…and you’ll say that you’ll tell me in time. We’ll play the game your way.” She knew her irritation was evident, but she didn’t think he’d shoot her for feeling frustrated.

“No, my dear, I won’t shoot you.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. After a few moments hesitation to collect her thoughts, she began. “Since you know my thoughts and my feelings, I’m sure you know how I feel about Jackson.”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, but maybe the question is, ‘what does he feel for you?’ Do you know how he feels?”

That jolted her, a frown forming across her forehead. “Well, no, I guess I don’t. He has never said, but I got the feeling…”

“That he wanted to protect you?”

Her shoulders sagged. Maybe that was all that Jackson felt.

“Let’s just say for the moment that he has feelings for you. What is your question?”

She raised her eyes to connect with his, knowing that he could read her thoughts and knew the anguish she was feeling. She didn’t miss the slight frown that quickly disappeared from his face.

“I don’t know the hierarchy of this realm, so I don’t know if I, as your daughter, would be allowed to marry…or if I’d have to marry someone at a high level in your…organization.”

His chuckle didn’t make her feel any better.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I’m not laughing at you, just finding humor in the words you still use from the other world.”

She waited for his answer. Would he put her off …again?

“Let me start by reminding you that the next year of your life will be dedicated to a high calling. You will need your concentration and every bit of wit and cunning that you possess.”

When she drew in a breath to speak, he held up his hand to silence her. She frowned slightly as she flopped back into the cushioned chair.

“When your training is completed, you will be tested on what you’ve learned.”

“A test? You mean like …a…” she waved her hand around like she was seeking an elusive word to describe her thoughts.

“A quest.”

“A quest?” She was still frowning, but now confusion had replaced frustration on her face. “My battle with Heath Courtland wasn’t enough?”

With a tender smile, he shook his white head. “That was just the beginning, my child.”

She blew out a breath. “This is going to be a tough gig.”

“There’s an ancient rhyme – ‘A knight must have quest to put him to the test.’ Or her. You must prove your worthiness to be a member of the Round Table.”

“Oh, I thought because I’m your daughter…”

“Lydia,” he said, shaking his head, “in the other world I believe you would have said, ‘There’s no free lunch’.”

Her lips quirked to one side as she thought about what he had just said. Yes, she’d rather prove herself worthy.

“Good,” her father said.

“So what, exactly, is a ‘quest’?”

“It’s a journey, a mission, of sorts where you go out with an objective and accomplish it within a specified amount of time.” When she remained quiet, he continued. “Once you have your assignment, you will have six months to report back to me with the issue resolved.”

“Six months,” she murmured. That was enough time to do most anything, she thought.

“Don’t get cocky,” he warned her. “The task will be difficult, but I have faith that you’ll be up to the task.”

She sat silently for a few moments, pondering what he had just disclosed to her.

“So the quest will be assigned after my training?”

Merlin shrugged. “If you really want to know now, I don’t see why you can’t be told.”

Lydia leaned forward until her stomach was touching the table. Her hands came up to rest beside her plate as she anxiously awaited his answer.

“Your quest, my daughter, will be to find and bring your traitor to me for judgment.”

His words chilled her skin. She eased back into her chair, her heart thumping as her mind whirled with images of dark alleys and sequestered meetings. No, no, that was in the other world. She was in…well, she wasn’t exactly sure where she was, but she knew she’d find out soon. Suddenly six months seemed like a very short period of time.

They both sat in silence. When she raised her eyes to her father, she knew there was only one question left.

“What about Jackson?”

Her father reached up to stroke his long white beard, but his eyes never left hers. His gaze penetrated to her very soul, touching the inner core to give her hope.

“I will never conjure a spell to make someone love another. However, if he loves you, and if he does, he’s keeping his thoughts and feelings blocked from me, I will allow a deviation from tradition, but you must prove you’re worthy of the concession.”

She held her breath. A feeling of heavy doom hung over her as she waited for him to continue.

“In order to have a chance at love with Jackson, you must be successful in your assigned quest. Then, and only then,” he emphasized, holding up one finger, “will I allow you to pursue what your heart is feeling.”

Hope rose…and dipped. The scenes of her courtroom battle against Heath flashed through her mind as her confidence returned, straightening her spine and narrowing her eyes.

“I accept the challenge, Father.” She slowly rose as he stood, stepping into his arms without hesitation.

“Never forget that we’ll be a thought away during your training and then when you go forth on your quest,” he whispered near her ear. “And never forget that you’re Merlin’s daughter.”

*  *  *  *  *

I think Jackson and Lydia will get together, don’t you? But we might need another sequel to find out.

Tune in tomorrow to bring in the New Year and find out who the winner is.