These are the titles to my portfolio of fiction. Genres include, thriller, mystery, romance, dramedy, and coming soon, nonfiction. Currently several are ready for publication with others not far behind. Please sign up here for my newsletter to receive publishing release dates and other related news, as well as free sample chapters.
CATCH HER IN THE EYE
“The Heavenly Bean,” Adam suggested, but it sounded more like a question.
“The one inside the bookstore?” She asked.
Despite looking like the cliché of a drowned rat, managing a smile was easy for Adam. It had been plastered on his face since this past Saturday, when he first laid eyes on her.
“That’s the one!” he replied.
The tow truck driver gabbed with the traffic cop as he finished disengaging the two bumpers, and then turned to address Adam. Noticing he was rubbing the back of his neck, he asked him if it hurt.
“Only when I go like this,” Adam answered, and demonstrated by reaching for his wallet and pulling out a credit card for payment. From his peripheral vision, Adam caught sight of the fender-bender girl hiding a giggle.
She laughs at my jokes.
The sticker on the pick-up schedule glued to the US postal mailbox on Beaufort's Front Street was cracked, faded, and barely legible. No doubt weathered from decades of coastal North Carolina's predictable weather patterns of sun, rain, more sun, and the occasional hurricane. Regardless, the box served its purpose.
The wax-sealed letter, with the apropos skull and crossbones postal stamp affixed, slid down the mailbox shoot disappearing into the dark depths like a doomed pirate ship’s journey to Davy Jones Locker. Emphasis on doomed, but then the whole thing was a gamble, a long shot to be sure, after all, a Hail Mary is part of the game when one was out of options. And sometimes it works.
Done. Now let’s see if he takes the bait . . .
Entering his study he withdrew volume two of, Lost Treasures of the Spanish Main, and a copy of, Women and English Piracy, from the shelf of one of the floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves. He sat down behind his desk and placed the two books next to his legal pad, and then depressed the power button of his laptop.
“Good morning, Mr. Kensington, I brought your morning tea; Earl Grey. Hot,” she said after entering the room, and then placed the cup down in front of him. “And the morning post just arrived,” she added, and before he could object, quickly placed the pile on the desk as well and turned to leave with no attempt to hide her snickering.
“Thank you, Mrs. Winthrop,” he said, knowing full well that his housekeeper, and unofficial lady of the manor, enjoyed irritating him with the daily flood of trifling junk from the post. “What would I ever do without you?” He added, secretly enjoying their daily sparring.
Mrs. Winthrop may be a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but to him, she’d become indispensable.
“Give me a pay rise, or you might find out in a fortnight!” She shot back from the hallway in a most exaggerated cockney accent―another splinter of irritation to her boss.
He repressed his urge to parry but allowed for a quick grin, one that just as quickly faded as he pushed aside the annoying pile from the morning post.
“Good afternoon Mr. Baines. Ms. Rawson will be with you momentarily. Please follow me.”
I followed him into the cavernous opening, an immense two-story foyer with white marble columns and tiles, and gold leaf trim everywhere. It had diverse greenery including a few tall tees and bright natural light which filtered down from the large multi-pane windows above the entrance door and the one up on the staircase landing between the first and the second floor. The staircase, covered in plush red and black fabric, was wide enough to drive a Humvee on. The chandelier above my head sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight, probably cost more then I’ll make in my life time. I was thinking this must be Heaven’s throne room but then I saw some of the rest of the house. It was a close 2nd.
I stayed close on 'Saint Peter’s' heels—it would take a week to find my way out if I got lost.
Not that that would be a bad thing.
He lead me down a long hallway with numerous doors that led off into God knows what rooms, perhaps a billiard room, a ballroom behind another, maybe a conservatory. At the end of the hallway he pushed open a set of double doors on the right and ushered me in with a wave of his hand.
I looked into the cavernous room. It was the library. Colonel Mustard was sitting in a brown, high-back leather chair brandishing a smoking revolver in one hand and a Martini in his other. Miss Scarlet was crumpled on the floor in front of—”
“Mr. Baines. Please wait in here. Ms. Rawson will be with you shortly.”
I stepped into the room drooling and catching flies and turned to comment, “Mine’s bigger,” but he’d already closed the doors and disappeared.
Sequel to Murder by the Sea
Excerpts from the thriller
The Sand Stalker yacht, and his personal fortune, both left to him by his father as an inheritance, afforded him the ability to travel and conduct his business with ease in the mundane to the most exotic playgrounds around the world. But the important underlying and thus biggest benefit to traveling and conducting business in international waters was in being away from prying eyes and the interfering reach of law enforcement agencies worldwide. This magnificent yacht could adapt and accommodate perfectly, no matter what the business venture entailed—be it drugs, arms, or one of Zahid’s personal favorites: human trafficking.
The ding of a bell on a channel marker they were just passing awoke him from his thoughts. The grave would have to wait, but deep inside, he knew it called his name.
Tomorrow was an important day. He had the personal task of finding the perfect, quintessential American woman for Zahid’s collection: a slim, tanned, blonde American woman with plenty of spunk and fight in her. Zahid had no preference of eye color—blue, brown, green, it made no difference. Kalil, on the other hand, liked brown eyes. He didn’t have his own collection like Zahid, but in the course of human trafficking over the years he had his share to sample and that was good enough for him. This American playground, Newport, Rhode Island would be good hunting grounds, he was sure.
INTO THE WIND
INTO THE WIND
"If you are like me, one of the fortunate ones who is no longer adrift and finds the winds of love blowing in your direction, I suggest you immediately weigh anchor, unfurl and hoist your sails, come about and point windward to face love head on. Navigating love can sometimes be rough waters and at times, you may find you should have “zigged” instead of “zagged” but I promise you, if you maintain a steady course it is worth the voyage baby. There is nothing comparable—I know, I have sailed that wind before… and I shall again.”
Diary Entry: Day 89
Like the lines from John Legend's song ALL OF ME, My Heads Under Water But I'm Breathing Fine. I find myself still under water so to speak but I am no longer drowning in sorrow and despair. She's gone, I am alone and there's no changing that, but there is changing me. After all these years, I'd forgotten who I was, and now I am beginning to enjoy the hell out of discovering who I am again and what I am really made of. My head was so far up the ass of feigned love I wouldn't have recognized true love if it hit me with the boom swinging in front of me. I'm not there yet but at least I know what it is not. The 6 day storm is over and the seas are calming.