Venita
wrote the song playing. It's called, " The Past Won't Get any
Better" It was produced by BJ Saidi. It is the song Amanda Howard
sings in my e-book, "In Mysterious Ways".
Thanks BJ.
Lang Garret likes to keep
to himself, and often carries the label of
anti-social. Still, being an accomplished artist
tends to make up for any negative identifier, at least
it does in his mind. That, mixed with occasional
periods of depression, moodiness and attacks of
mulishness provides an expected flair for his artistic
nature. Try telling that to his blues-singing fiancé,
Amanda Howard.
After making an
appearance at the Half Mile From The Sun art gallery in
Phoenix, Arizona, he and Amanda take an unexpected tour
in a remote area of Prescott. Curiosity isn’t a strong
enough word to describe the anticipation Lang feels when
he is told they will be visiting a recently-formed crop
circle. His curiosity soon turns to horror when the
energy from the circle begins to show its effect on
anyone who dares to enter its boundaries. How could they
know that someone would die? Transformations begin to
take place in each individual in the small tour group;
transformations that continue even after they’re safely
back home. Or, are they really safe?
Dead on the
Money, picks up where Initials For Murder,
left off, ensnaring Tom and Olivia in yet another dangerous and
thrilling adventure.
Tom Trask is basking in the glow
of his recent engagement to H. Olivia Tully, but without
warning, his elation turns to shattering danger when a ruthless
convict shows up and begins to stalk them. He is believed to be
the son of a bank robber who, Uncle Charlie, in his prior police
years, sent up the river.
Listen to, author, Venita
Louise, sing 'The Nearness of You', portraying the
character, Hazel Thompson. Hazel is a waitress, aspiring
singer, and ball of fire, intent on stealing Tom away from
Olivia...that is, until she meets the musician of her
dreams.
The Beals live in a upper middle class
neighborhood in the mid 1960's. Frank is a jingle writer who is having more than
a little trouble coming up with a shoe polish jingle. Trying to keep up with the
neighbor's expensive tastes is a full time job in itself. But when Frank butts
heads with a Voodoo practicing Brazilian gardener, he gets much more than he
bargains for, especially when he is distracted by all the spells flying back and
forth, with a force strong enough to turn his wife into a love-starved siren and his children into well-behaved angels.
Two
weeks. That’s how long it had been since they exchanged
those awful words. They had their spats before but it
was never so serious as to tear them this far apart.
He turned hazel eyes from the harsh traffic lights and
allowed them to drift up three floors to rest on her
ivy-bordered balcony, decorated now with festive blinking
lights. When did he get weak? He should just march right
up to her door and break it down. That’s it. Just break
the door down and sweep her into his arms
No one knew that better. He had seen first hand the unyielding
power of the reaper’s will. It wasn’t the reaper who tugged at
him now, however. It was the deadly toxin that was being rapidly
absorbed into his digestive tract. The cold wind flattened his
pant legs against his shins. An icy ache rankled his teeth. He
jerked the edges of his coat tightly around his middle. His
heart battered a rabbit-quick rhythm against his chest. Pain
ripped up through his abdomen and brought him to a stand still.
With panic stricken eyes, he looked around for help.
Excerpt
He couldn’t remember where
he was or why he was there. There was one thing he could
remember, though. He thought of his life before it went cold
and empty, before Martha died. She was warm with the comfort
and feeling of home. They had lived simply, with little need
for material things, and they were happy that way.
It was the tumor that took her from him. A tiny,
unreachable, ticking bomb he was powerless to defuse. Oh,
how he longed to see her smile, to touch her hand. One gaze,
one last touch.
Suddenly, he heard her calling to him. He stopped and
listened. She called again. She was just across the street.
All he had to do was cross over and he could be
with her.
The corner of Roy’s
mouth tipped up in a crooked grin as he looked around at
Harry’s latest pigsty. It was a Goldenwest singlewide. The
natural wood grain was photographed veneer but glued
nicely from floor to ceiling, panel so thin it cracked
from the sound of a loud fart.
Excerpt
Harry grabbed a handful
of envelopes and slapped them on the table. “Quit your
complainin’ you should be glad that I’m lettin’ you help.”
Roy snorted. “Come on Harry, you really think you’re gonna
make any money doin' this?” He shook his head and took a
long pull from his Budweiser.
“The ad says you can make up to five thousand dollars a
month in your spare time,” Harry said whacking a pack of
Camel’s three times hard against the heel of his hand.
The glare from the
florescent lighting stitched Billy Dolan’s eyes into
defensive slits. He was, hungry, tired and hampered by
ankle irons. With labored shuffling, the soft rubber sole
of his shoe caught on the waxed linoleum tile and he
suddenly fell forward. The guard’s grip on his arms made
him wince. It hurt like hell, but he refused to call out.
Excerpt
Men in suits,
expressionless, rigid and overly scented, occupied two of
the chairs on one side of a long table. An empty chair sat
on the other. The guards thrust Dolan into the chair meant
for him, causing it to scrape several inches across the
floor with a teeth-aching squeal.
Dolan tried to take in as much of the room as he could in
a single scan. Drab, grimy white walls and nothing hung on
them to cover the web of cracks crawling from each corner.
The floor was covered in the same dappled linoleum tile
that he got a good look at in the hall. And now, even with
the sunlight shining in from the windows, the room felt
dark.
The printer whirred, as it reproduced the screen
image. Beckard snagged it and walked across the floor of
the small apartment. He sat down at the white wicker
dining set and inspected the documents on the table,
driver's license, dental records, passport and a tattered
looking birth certificate. It wouldn't be long now; he
would be enjoying a new life and a new identity.
Excerpt:
The knock at the door was barely audible.
"Where the hell have you been?" Beckard asked impatiently.
There was a moment of silence as he held open the door.
"I was doing what you told me to do," Benjamin answered,
stepping into the room.
"I don't remember telling you to disconnect your phone, or
to quit your job, for that matter," Beckard said. “It
makes you look suspicious to quit after only two months.”
"Look, I got paranoid; I don't want to go to jail over
this."
"So, you drop by my apartment when you know I'm under
surveillance? Smart move, Ben."
Benjamin’s head jerked around, as if he was expecting to
see a couple of agents break through the door to sweep him
off to some fat creep lockup tank.
"Okay, you’re right, this was a stupid idea, but I can't
stop thinkin' about Eve. I feel like we’ve betrayed her."
"That feeling will go away when you have that large chunk
of cash in your pocket. Remember? That's why we did this
in the first place."
Benjamin stared into Beckard’s eyes and shifted his weight
from foot to foot like a captured animal.
"Look, I've been thinking,” Benjamin, offered. “Maybe Eve
doesn't have to disappear. I know it's chancy, but I was
hoping maybe you could just let her go be with her sister.
I mean maybe…"
"Are you nuts?" Beckard put his hand on Benjamin's
shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make him wince. "Don't
wimp out on me now. Not when we're so close to the finish
line. We've planned this for months, and don't forget how
much you're involved. You even planted the tracer on her
car for God's sake!" Beckard eased his grip. "Okay?” His
voice lowered. "If we can keep her from finding out, then
maybe we can let her go, but you have to think of the plan
first."
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