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No Rehab for Murder, Chapter 2

“I cannot believe this,” Fern Parker said as she paced the floor in the ER cubicle. “I just don’t understand how this could happen.”

“It’s nothing serious, Fern,” Violet said, trying to reassure her friend. “I’m pretty sure it’s a clean break. There’s no reason to end our trip early.”

Fern waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not talking about your leg. I can’t believe you got Sven to put his arms around you before me!”

Violet sighed and shook her head.

“Really, Fern, this isn’t about you,” Mary Jo Kimbrough said. “Violet is the one we should be focusing on here, not your imaginary love life.”

“What about poor Sven?” Fern retorted. “That gorgeous man probably has a broken back. Now I’ll never get to have a romantic evening with him before we go home.”

“You weren’t going to have a romantic evening with him in the first place!” Mary Jo replied.

“You don’t know that,” Fern said. “I had it all planned out: a romantic candlelight dinner, a stroll in the snow, the moonlight shining down on us, Sven taking me in his arms and…”

“More than I really need to know,” Violet said, stopping her before she went into more graphic detail.

“I think we should all be grateful that Sven and Violet weren’t killed,” Felicity Vinson pointed out.

Violet studied her friends as they continued to talk. Four people could not be more different: Fern was a rich widow who flirted with every handsome man who crossed her path, regardless of age. She was a natural beauty who wore very little make up, and was always immaculately dressed in the latest style.

Mary Jo was a mom to four sons who played football in the fall and baseball in the spring. She usually had her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wore jeans and t-shirts. Whenever she and Fern got into an argument, Mary Jo resorted to sarcastic remarks, which made Fern defended her position even more fiercely.

Felicity was the peacemaker of the group. She dressed simply in slacks and blouses, but felt just as comfortable in jeans. While she wasn’t a natural beauty like Fern, everyone who knew and loved her said that her inner beauty and generous heart made her the most beautiful person in the room.

Violet was the tomboy of the group. She preferred working with her hands, either in her garden or in her workshop, where she refinished old furniture. Some of her free time was spent volunteering at a local animal shelter, which is where she had adopted her beloved cat, Max. Her daughter Dawn was constantly reminding her not to adopt any of the cats she occasionally fostered. Like Max would really go for that. He was king of the castle, and no one was allow to invade his kingdom without permission.

The curtain was pulled back and a young nurse appeared at the foot of the bed. It’s going to be just a few more minutes before we take you down to x-ray,” she told Violet. “There’s a policeman outside who would like to talk to you.”

“To me?” Violet said, surprised. “Whatever for?”

“About your accident.”

“It was an accident, nothing more than that.”

The nurse shrugged. “I only know what he told me, Mrs. Jansen. Do you want me to send him in now, or wait until after you come back?”

“Now is fine.”

The nurse left and came back a few minutes later with a young man wearing a black police uniform. “Mrs. Jansen?” he asked, looking around at the four women.

Violet raised her hand. “I’m Violet Jansen. What can I do for you, Officer…?”

“Bruce Coleman, ma’am,” he said, shaking her hand. “If you feel up to it, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened on the mountain this morning.”

“I’m not sure there is much I can tell you. It all happened so fast. And like I told the nurse, it was just an unfortunate accident.”

“Anything you can tell me me will be just fine, ma’am.”

Violet told him everything she could remember, which didn’t seem like much. The young officer looked disappointed when she finished. “So you don’t know what happened when the person who ran into you caught up with the woman?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“You didn’t see anyone standing off to the side before you and the ski instructor hit the tree?”

“Not really. There was a mother and son who stopped to help us; you might ask them.”

“Another officer has already talked to them. They didn’t see anything, either. They were focused on helping you and Mr. Jorgenson.”

“I’m sorry, Officer Coleman,” Violet said as the nurse came back in with an orderly. “I wish I could be more help.”

“It’s not your fault, Mrs. Jansen.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

“I will. May I ask you a question?”


“The young woman…what happened to her?”

“We don’t know,” Coleman replied.

“I couldn’t help but notice that she was lying on the ground further down the hill from us.”

“That wasn’t her,” Coleman replied. “It was the man who had been chasing her.”

“What happened to him?” Fern asked. “Did he break his leg, too? Doesn’t surprise me. Violet told us he was flying down the mountain like a wild man.”

“No, ma’am, he doesn’t have a broken leg. He was murdered.”

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No Rehab for Murder, Chapter 1

My good friend Stacy ( who is also one of my editors who takes care of everything on this blog) told me a couple of weeks ago that her mom had fallen at home, breaking her ankle and upper arm. After her surgery, she was sent over to a rehab facility. So I decided to write a little story for her to keep her entertained while she is there. Here’s the first chapter. Enjoy!

No Rehab for Murder

Chapter 1

Not for the first time, Violet Janson wondered what in the world had possessed her to go along with this cockamamy idea. She was standing at the top of a snowy mountainside in Vail, Colorado, wearing a neon pink snowsuit, a blue hat with a bright green pompom on top, holding two pairs of ski poles. A very handsome young man named Sven was helping her put on a set of skis. “There, Mrs. Janson, you’re all set,” he said, getting to his feet. He took his poles back from her. “You’ve been doing very well this week during our lessons. Today, we’re going to ski down to the bottom of the hill.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this, Sven,” Violet said as she looked down the slope. She watched people swishing their way confidentially across the snow. A snowboarder zoomed past her, and she thought that person was crazy to be doing this with just one board. She thought she was crazy for trying to do with with the very thin pieces of wood on her feet. “Couldn’t we do this tomorrow?”

“You’ll be just fine, Mrs. Janson,” he assured her. “I’m going to ski ahead of you, just a little bit, and then I’ll stop. You watch me and then follow me down.”

He took off before she could protest. She watched him turning left, then right, then left again. He made it look so easy, so graceful…and he really had a nice looking butt. Sighing, Violet pushed off and started down the hill.

She made it down to where he was standing with no problem. “Well done, Mrs. Jansen!” Sven said, a huge grin on his face. “Let’s go a little bit further this time.” He took off again.

Before she could follow him, someone went flying by her. The person briefly looked back, and Violet could tell it was a woman, and she looked terrified. The woman faced forward again and dug her poles into the snow, trying to make herself go faster. Violet shook her head. Didn’t that woman know it was dangerous to race on the slopes with so many people around?

She started down, keeping an eye on where Sven was standing. He started waving his arms frantically. Was she doing something wrong?And was he yelling at her now? She thought that was odd; he had never yelled at her before.

Suddenly, she was hit by something from behind, throwing her off balance and off course. Instead of heading down toward Sven, she was headed for a grove of trees to the right. Oh no, this was not good.

Whoever hit her managed to right themselves and was headed after the woman who had just passed Violet. They seemed to be gaining on her. At the same time, Sven was moving horizontally, trying to cut Violet off, hopefully to keep her from slamming face first into a tree. Unfortunately, Violet couldn’t remember how to stop, and she braced herself for impact.

She slammed into something hard, but it was Sven and not a tree. Her momentum kept them going, and the next thing they hit was a tree. There were several snapping noises, and Violet wasn’t sure if it was the skis, the poles, or various body parts that had been broken in two. They landed on top of the snow in a tangled pile of limbs and skiing equipment.

“Mrs. Jansen, are you all right?” Sven managed to gasp.

“I’m not sure, Sven. What about you?”

“I think my back is broken.”

“Don’t move,” she said. She looked around and noticed a couple of people coming toward them. “Do you have your phone with you?” she asked one of them when they stopped next to them.

“Yes, ma’am,” the young man said. “I’ll call for help.”

The woman took her skis off, stuck her poles in the snow, and knelt down next to Violet and Sven. “I’m a nurse,” she said. “Try not to move.”

“I’m all right,” Violet told her, “but Sven has hurt his back.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’re not all right,” the nurse said. “It looks like you might have a broken leg.”

“Funny, it doesn’t feel broken.”

“The adrenaline is giving you a natural high,” she explained. “Give yourself a couple of minutes; you’ll feel it. Just sit there and let me take your skis off.”

“Ski patrol is on their way,” the young man said as he shoved his phone back into his jacket. “What do you need me to do, Mom?”

“Let’s move this broken equipment off to the side, Sam, so it won’t be in the way when the patrol gets here.”

Working carefully, the two of them took off Violet and Sven’s skis. “I saw what happened,” the young man said. “That guy was chasing someone. He almost ran me over right before he hit you.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

The young man shook his head. “Mom and I were at the top of the hill, getting ready to head down, when we heard a couple arguing. The man grabbed her arm and told her that she was going to give him what he wanted, or she would be sorry she ever crossed him. She jerked her arm out of his hand, said that it was too late. She had given it to the authorities, and that she was going to enjoy watching him go to jail. The man stuck his hand into the right pocket of his jacket, and she suddenly looked scared. She took off, he said a few choice words and went after her.”

Violet looked down the hill and noticed that a crowd had gathered around something lying in the snow. She hoped it wasn’t that young woman.

“Ma’am?” the nurse said. “I’m going to have to move your leg a little so I can check out your friend here. This is probably going to hurt.”

Violet merely nodded. The nurse took her leg in her hands and moved it slowly, and Violet felt a shooting pain, and she sucked in her breath. Sam knelt behind her, and Violet leaned against him. He held her hand. “I broke my leg on this same hill last year. I lost my balance and tumbled halfway down the hill,” he told her. “Snapped my tibia in two. My friends never let me hear the end of it. At least you have a way cooler story to tell your friends about how you got hurt.”

Violet didn’t think slamming into a tree was a cool story, even if Sven had had his arms wrapped around her when it happened. Then she smiled; the girls were going to be SO jealous when they found out that she had been in Sven’s arms, especially Fern. She had been trying to figure out how to get Sven to hold her all week, but had failed miserably. Fern was going to pout all the way home.

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Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime

HAPPY HOMICIDES fall into crime large banner 640 1Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime

by Joanna Campbell Slan, Linda Gordon Hengerer, Carole W. Price,
Lesley A. Diehl, Nancy Jill Thames, Teresa Trent, Maggie Toussaint,
Anna Celeste Burke, Randy Rawls, Nancy J. Cohen,
Terry Ambrose, and Deborah Sharp

HH 4 revised 07212016

Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime



Joanna Campbell Slan / Vendetta: A Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery – The House of Refuge on Gilbert’s Bar is known for its 150-year history as a way station for shipwrecked sailors. But when Cara Mia visits, the museum becomes the scene of a crime.

Linda Gordon Hengerer / Dying for School Tea: A Beach Tea Shop Novella – Chelsea Powell and her sisters are providing treats for Citrus Beach High School’s freshman orientation. Can they solve the murder of the beloved softball coach before someone else dies?

Carole W. Price / The Glass Birdhouse – Glass artist Bella hopes to find clues about her student’s death in the woman’s unfinished glass birdhouse.

Lesley A. Diehl / Bobbing for Murder – A visit from Darcie’s family is always chaotic, and this time the relatives bamboozle Darcie into having a Halloween party. It’s a decision that definitely comes back to haunt her.

Nancy Jill Thames / Raven House – When a reporter is murdered after a fundraiser at the historic Raven House, the police call on Jillian and her Yorkie Teddy to help them investigate.

Teresa Trent / Falling for Murder – Helpful hints columnist Betsy Livingston is an expert at household organization but her skills are put to the test when she’s called upon to conduct an efficiency review for a haunted house.

Maggie Toussaint / Dead Men Tell Tales – In this third installment of the Lindsey & Ike romantic mystery novella series, things don’t add up after a suspicious hunting accident. The more Sheriff Ike Harper and newspaper editor Lindsey McKay dig, the more questions they find.

Anna Celeste Burke / All Hallow’s Eve Heist – Date night for Georgie Shaw and handsome detective Jack Wheeler goes terribly wrong. A botched heist at Marvelous Marley World has everyone scrambling as trigger-happy bad guys head for the Halloween celebration in Arcadia Park.

Randy Rawls / Accident, Suicide, or Murder – Retired policeman Jonathan Boykin’s primary interest is improving his golf, but a grieving father’s request to investigate his son’s suspicious death is an entirely different ballgame.

Nancy J. Cohen / Haunted Hair Nights – As a new stepmother, hairstylist Marla Vail hopes to win brownie points by helping her daughter with a school haunted house project. Marla has her work cut out for her when she stumbles over a corpse on the spooky estate grounds.

Terry Ambrose / Spirit in the Rock – An invitation to a museum’s grand opening turns into a showdown with the spirit world for amateur sleuth Wilson McKenna.

Deborah Sharp / Haunting in Himmarshee – When a ghost comes to call, Mace must sort out the haunted from the homicidal in Himmarshee, Florida.

Bonus Story—
Joanna Campbell Slan/Kiki Lowenstein and the Doodoo – A fun family outings turns into a fearful fright, but Kiki Lowenstein is good at sniffing out bad guys.


Comes with a bonus file of recipes and craft tips!

All for just 99 cents!

Pre-order Links Coming Soon!

Great Escapes Book Tour – August 29 – September 11, 2016

Find out about the authors on their webpages below.

Joanna Campbell Slan

Linda Gordon Hengerer

Carol W. Price

Lesley A. Diehl

Nancy Jill Thames

Teresa Trent

Maggie Toussaint

Anna Celeste Burke

Randy Rawls

Nancy J. Cohen

Terry Ambrose

and Deborah Sharp

a Rafflecopter giveaway




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An answered prayer leads to true love

A young woman, who was a youth director at a Methodist church in Missouri, was lonely. Dating was not that much fun, and the type of man she was looking for seemed to be out of reach for her. So one day, she said a simple prayer, asking God to show her the path He had laid out for her, and to lead her to a man who loved Him as much as she did.

On a spring day in May of 1975, this young woman was driving down a small road in the Oklahoma countryside, appropriately named Methodist Road, toward a church camp. There was a conference for youth directors being held at this camp, and even though her traveling companion had backed out at the last minute, she decided to go ahead and go.

As she pulled into the camp in her little yellow Mustang, she was unsure where to park. She saw a young man walking toward one of the buildings, so she rolled down her window and stopped next to him. “Excuse me, could you tell me where we’re supposed to park?”

He looked at her like she was crazy before pointing to her right. “Right over there with all the other cars,” he told her.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, she thanked him and pulled into a parking space. The young man just shook his head and walked off.

As the conference got underway, people were broken up into small groups. The young man realized he was in the same small group with the crazy lady who had asked him where to park. But as the week went on, he found himself spending more and more time talking to this young woman. Her love of God was something he had not found in his own dating experiences, not that he dated much. He was a lay pastor for two small Oklahoma churches and was a divorced father of two young daughters, aged six and five. But something about this young woman fascinated him.

At the end of the week, instead of going back his own home, he followed the young woman back to her Missouri town. They both knew they were going to get married; he asked her when they got back to Monett, where she lived. Even though they had only known each other a week, they realized that God had brought them together.

For the next three months, they drove back and forth between Monett and Pryor, Oklahoma, where he lived. They alternated weekends. On August 15th, 1975, they were married at the Monett Methodist Church. Their honeymoon was spent moving to a little town in Texas called Dimmitt, into a house that was right across from the FFA feed lot.

Four months after they got married, his daughters moved in permanently with them. She became an instant mom just before her 30th birthday. The first gift she made for them was two dolls: one with a big head and one tooth, orange yarn for hair named Roothy Toothy, and another doll with auburn hair, a sun hat, a dress, velvet shoes and a purse, and her name was Lulu.

For thirty-nine and a half years, these two wonderful people served churches in Texas and New Mexico, working as a team, sharing their love of God with everyone they met. And it wasn’t just their love of God that was evident to everyone, but their love for each other. They rarely spent more than one day apart. They raised their two daughters with love, teaching them to love God and to have faith no matter how hard things got to be at times. And when they because grandparents, they showered their grandson with the same love and affection, and also taught him to have faith.

The answer to that young woman’s prayer all those years ago passed away in February 2015, a few days after she lost her beloved mother. But the reminders of her answer to that one simple prayer to God is still around her: through the friends they made over the years, the stories that are told about the things they did together, through the love of their daughters and their grandson. He is gone, but he is not forgotten. Today, we remember and celebrate the day that God brought this wonderful woman into our lives.

I have a reminder of the love she showed to me that first Christmas over forty years ago: Lulu is sitting on my bookshelf in my room. The hat and purse are long gone, lost in one of the countless numbers of moves we made over the years. The velvet isn’t as soft as it once ways, but the love that was poured into it when it was made is still there.

I wish I could be with you today, Mom, to remember that day in August of 1975 when you said, “I do” to a goofy man with wavy reddish brown hair. Just know that every day, I thank God, and Dad, for bringing you into our lives. You may have been looking for an answer to a simple prayer, but I believe you were the answer to one that was unspoken by all of us. I love you more than words could ever say, and I am truly blessed and honored to call you my mother.

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How long does an act of kindness take?

With everything that has happened this week, I find myself wondering what I can do in my little corner of the world to make a difference. Then I thought about three things I had done in the last week that had touched three different people.
A week ago, Rollin and I were working in the garage on his car (okay, I was supervising more than helping, truth be told), and I had gone inside to get us a couple of bottles of cold water. I handed one to him and just as I started to open mine, I looked across the street and saw a gentleman walking in the hot sun. I called out to him as I walked down the driveway, and handed him my bottle of water. He looked shocked. I said, “You look like you need this more than I do.” He thanked me, I told him to have a good day and walked back up my driveway. Took maybe 30 seconds. Rollin asked me why I had done it, and I said, “Because he was sweating a lot, looked very hot and I felt like he needed it more than I did. What did it cost me?” He said, “A few steps and maybe 50 cents.” I pointed out that wasn’t very much to give comfort to someone else. “‘Do unto others as you would have him do unto you’,” I told him as I went inside to get another bottle of water.
Wednesday, as I sat with Buddy in the waiting room at Texas Oncology, this beautiful older black lady (and she IS a lady) sat down in a chair, propping her cane against the chair next to her. She was dressed in a beautiful blue and green outfit that reminded me of the colors of a peacock. She wore a wide brim straw hat that matched her outfit perfectly. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand that held a clipboard. She started looking for the pen that had been on the clipboard, but couldn’t find it. I glanced down at the floor and saw the pen under the chair next to her. “Hold on, ma’am, I see it,” I told her as I hurried over. “I’ll get it for you.” I knelt down, reached under the chair, grabbed the pen and handed it to her. “Well, aren’t you such a sweet thing!” she said with a huge smile on her face. “Thank you so much, honey.” “You’re very welcome, ma’am,” I said, returning her smile. I nodded at her and returned to my seat. Took maybe 30 seconds.
Today, I was at Lowe’s (Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!), pushing a cart of cut cedar boards. I noticed a gentleman trying to maneuver a cart up against one of the shelves. He reached up to a shelf that was about chin high on him, and started to pull down a huge board of plywood. I pushed my cart to the side, walked over, grabbed the other end and helped him slide it off the shelf and put it on his cart. “How many more do you need, sir?” “Just one more.” So we each grabbed our ends and slid another one off the shelf, putting it on top of the other one. He thanked me, I smiled and said, “You’re welcome. You have a good day.” He told me to do the same, I grabbed my cart and walked off. Took maybe 2 minutes.
In less than 3 minutes, three small acts of kindness shocked, surprised and touched three different people. If we all took the time to do that for a stranger, regardless of who they are, don’t you think the world would be a better place? Granted, it isn’t always easy to do or say something nice for someone, for they are bound and determined to hate you no matter what you do. I currently find myself in a situation where I need to protect someone I love from someone who is not always kind to me, but it has blown up in my face, and I am now on the outside, feeling helpless to do anything. All I can do is support the one I love, and support the decision that they have made. I do love them both, each in their own way. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to be kind to the people who cross my path, even if it is just to smile, nod and say hello. How much time does that take? Is it worth the few seconds it takes to be nice to another human being? How does it feel when someone you don’t know does something nice for you? Pay it forward and share that feeling with someone else. A small gesture may mean more to them than you could ever know.
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Slightly dented and damaged, but still truckin’

I have been asked quite a bit lately when the next Lizzie book is coming out, and I have been working on it (Death Pays the Check). My goal is in the next three or four months.

However, I feel as though I owe you all an explanation of the reason for the delay.

Normally, I’m rather open about my private life, sharing things my family have said and done. Really, they make it so easy to laugh at the things they do, I just HAVE to share these things.

But the last couple of months, I have kept something from everyone except my immediate family, and a few very close, close friends.

In the middle of May, I was getting ready for a trip to Missouri to see Mom and James. The only thing I had left to do was to see my regular doctor for my three month pain medication check. While I was there, I asked them to run the usual blood work, because I had anemia two years ago that we took care of, and while there had been no more problems, I felt it was important to keep an eye on it.

The day before I was due to leave, I received a call from one of the nurses, telling me that I needed to go to the emergency room immediately to receive an iron transfusion. My iron levels had seriously tanked (4%). The next morning, I drove to the hospital, where more blood was drawn to see what my levels were. The ER doctor told me that I did not need the transfusion; he said he didn’t like doing iron transfusions, and his cut off was 7% (I was at 7.5%). “Take some iron pills and get rechecked with your doctor in ten days.” He diagnosed me with iron deficient anemia and sent me on my way.

I called my doctor’s office, told them what happened, and requested the same medication I had taken two years before that had worked so well.They also told me that I needed to make an appointment with a hematologist, who would help me manage my anemia. I stuck close to home, just in case. To be honest, I didn’t give the whole thing very much thought for the next month. I refinished an old school desk for Mom, a dining room table for my in-laws, and took my iron pills. And just to throw this in, I have been trying to lose weight, and have lost 26 pounds in the last few months. YAY ME! Of course, this means I need to pull out some old clothes, because my shorts don’t fit, and my shirts look like tents on me right now. But I’ll take it!

Finally, I was ready to go to Missouri again. I was feeling better, had Mom’s desk loaded in the van, along with the wood for a couple of flower box benches I’m working for my mother-in-law that James is going to help me put together . Tuesday, June 28th was the target date, and I would be able to spend my birthday with my family. I was excited, although I would miss playing pool with a new friend, Rollin, which I have been doing for the last month.

Monday, June 27th was a bad day. I woke up at 7 am, and by 10 am, I was back in bed, totally exhausted. Up at 2 p.m., and by 5 p.m., I was ready to go back to bed again. Warning bells started going off. I talked to my husband that night, and we agreed that I should go back to my doctor and get the iron levels rechecked. So I called Mom and regretfully cancelled my trip.

Next day, more blood was done, and an appointment was made with a hematologist, Dr. Kannan, for Wednesday, July 6th. The call I got from my regular doctor told me that my iron levels had not improved since May, despite the fact I had been taking the iron pills every day. I had even been eating food that had higher iron levels (Cheerios and I are best friends now).

The night before the appointment, I was nervous as hell. I confided as much to Rollin, who called me a couple of hours later and said, “Let’s go shoot some pool.” God bless him, he was trying to take my mind off things. I have to say he has been a God send, offering his support and being a good friend. I have a feeling I’ve just “adopted” another son (that would make four total: James (the one who tortured me through hours of labor), Aronn, Justin, and now Rollin, and one “adopted” daughter, Breela)!

I had my appointment yesterday, and needless to say, it was an eye opener. It doesn’t have anything to do with the amount of iron in your food, she told me. It’s possible that this has been going on for a long time and you just haven’t realized it. Basically, she thinks that somewhere inside me, there might be a micro bleed. My body cannot replenish the iron that it needs fast enough. New iron pills, more blood work, and a referral to another doctor for a colonoscopy is what I left with. If my iron levels have not improved by August 3rd, my next appointment, then I will have to have the iron transfusion.

Rollin and I played pool last night, and I told him what the doctor had said. “I find it weird to think that I’m standing here, and I could be bleeding somewhere internally, and not even realize it.” When I told another close friend, Kristi, last night, the results, I said, ‘I find it a bit disconcerting to realize this. Can you just imagine the conversation: ‘Hey Teresa, how’s it going?’ ‘Oh not bad, just a little internal bleeding, nothing serious. How are you doing?'” We both had a good laugh over that one.

My mom called me this morning to check on me, and we chatted for a few minutes. I told her I had talked to James the night before, and he had been very insistent that I get up to Missouri by this weekend, early next week at the latest. I asked her if she knew why there was such a sense of urgency, and she said, “Maybe he just needs to see you to make sure that you’re really all right.” After we hung up, I sent her a text: “Just want to say that I’m all right. I’m not like a certain person who won’t be named. I don’t curl up in my room and do nothing. I keep going, trying to get things done. Slightly dented and damaged, but still truckin’!” Her reply was “Keep on trucking”, and I said, “Beep beep!”

I’m not telling you all this for sympathy. Now that the initial shock has passed, I’m handling this with my usual sense of humor and warped jokes. I can’t help but think of a conversation I had with the nurse who drew my blood yesterday. I’m a hard stick, and I have moving veins, so she had a heck of a time trying to get a vein to stay still long enough to draw the blood she needed. She ended up jabbing both arms. The whole time she was trying to find a vein, I was laughing and joking with her. “You are such a good patient,” she told me when she finally found a cooperative vein, “and you have a great sense of humor about this.” I replied, “I look at it this way. I can moan and groan (which I have done), and say, ‘Woe is me’ (which I did), but as I told a doctor once, ‘I can let my physical problems weigh me down and make me miserable. Or I can look at things with my usual sense of humor and laugh. I choose to laugh. I only have anemia; there are people in this building (I was at Texas Oncology) who are in worse shape than I am. I have no reason or right to complain too much. God bless those people here who are fighting their own battles. I’ll be fine. They have a harder road to sow.”

Two weird coincidences: the registrar who checked me in was also named Teresa, and Dr. Kannan’s medical assistant is named Lizzie. Cue the spooky music! (And no, Lizzie doesn’t know anyone named Gladys; I asked!) My husband says that perhaps this is a sign of good karma.

So, the next Lizzie book is being written inbetween naps, building projects, and nights of pool with Rollin, Aronn and friends, where I can take out my frustrations on 15 innocent pool balls, and laugh with these young people who think this old lady is funny as hell and pretty cool (Aronn and Rollin got me a new pool cue for my birthday, so I have to break it in, right?). I might feel sorry for myself every once in a while, but these boys usually listen to me whine, then kick me in the butt, and say, “Get over it and let’s go shoot pool.”

I’m slightly damaged and dented, seriously goofy with a warped sense of humor, but I’m still truckin’.

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A unique position…

For the first time in a while, I took a look at my sales numbers. They say ignorance is bliss. They were right! Oy vey!

As many of you know, my life, and the lives of my family, have been upended. As the saying goes, someone upset the apple cart. Frankly, I think they dumped the apples out of the cart, ran it over, and started throwing the apples at me. My last two posts here were about my wonderful grandmother, Edna, who passed away January 29th, and the unexpected death of the rock of our family, my father, Jim, on February 4th.

Needless to say, thoughts of writing were pushed far away from the front of my mind. Continue reading “A unique position…”

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Honoring my father

It is hard to imagine that one week ago today, we buried Dad. He’s not far from the chapel, which seems very appropriate for a preacher, don’t you think?

I do not know what possessed me to tell my mother that I wanted to do his eulogy. As I mentioned that day, I’m more of a behind the scenes kind of person, not stand in front of over four hundred people (that’s how many were there; even the balcony was full) and tell them about a man who meant so much to so many people. Continue reading “Honoring my father”

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Just some miscellaneous things…

Well, we’re getting close to the end of the year, and I thought I would let you all know what I’m up to.

I’m up to absolutely nothing.

Okay, good night, New York!

Okay, okay, so I might have one or two things going on. I’m working on the next Lizzie story, Death Vetoes the Chairman. We will be doing a cover reveal on December 24th, so keep your eyes out for that. After I finish this story, then I will get back to work on the next Cam Shaw story, Who Killed the Ghost Writer?. I am getting plenty of questions about Grandma Alma and Walt; people want to know what happened to them. Well, I already know, mainly because I already wrote that chapter as soon as I finished writing Who Killed the Ghost in the Library?. No, I’m not telling you, and no, I can’t be bribed (not even with M&Ms!). There are a couple of people that know, but they aren’t telling, either (mainly because I have them tied up and gagged somewhere so they can’t tell anyone).

I’m also toying with an idea for a new series, one that will be TOTALLY different from Cam and Lizzie. It’s still in the planning stages, so there aren’t a lot of details I can tell you. As soon as I have something more definitive, I will tell you, I promise.

I’ve been doing Promote an Author Tuesdays and Book Review Thursdays for a couple of months now. Do you like these new features? Is there something you wish I was doing that I’m not doing? Are there things you want me to ask our featured authors? Feedback would be greatly appreciated, so let me know! I’m doing these for you, so it’s important to me that I make sure I’m giving you what you want. 🙂

It’s almost Christmas, and I hope that you all have a Merry Christmas! I’ll be going to Missouri to spend time with my parents and my son. We always go to Christmas Eve service, and sometimes we drive around and look at all the Christmas lights afterwards. Mostly, we just spend a lot of time together, since I don’t get up there that often. Christmas morning, either James or I will play Santa, and pass out the gifts. I believe it’s my turn this year. After lunch, we drive out to the Manor to see my grandmother. It’s a quiet day filled with plenty of laughter and love. I hope that your day is just as special with your family.

I want to take a moment and thank a few people who have been very supportive this year. Kristi, you’ve been with me from the beginning. The editing notes you send me always crack me up. Thank you so much for your friendship and the laughs. Jamie, you’ve been there from the start as well. Thank you so much for the creative cover art, the formatting and uploading that you do for me. Let’s face it, if it weren’t for you, my books would never see the light of day! My parents, who have stood behind me and delivered a few swift kicks to the behind when I’ve need them (which is almost a daily thing). The words of wisdom, the encouragement, and the love mean more to me than anything else in the world. Love you both very much! James, my head assistant: thank you for listening to all my goofy, crazy story ideas, and throwing in a few suggestions of  your own. All the explosions, car wrecks, vehicles through a house are because of him. Never give up on your dreams, my son, no matter how old you get. I’m proof of that. Love you to the moon and back, to infinity and beyond, forever and ever. My husband, who has had to listen to a lot of my goofy story ideas now that James has moved out. You may not always hear what I say, but your support and your love is unwavering, and for this, I am truly grateful. Happy 12th anniversary, sweetie! And last, but by no means least, Stacy, my right hand lady, without whom nothing on my blog would be posted (because I totally screw up every link and picture I try to post). Thank you so much for putting up with my grouchiness, my mood swings, my totally insane story ideas, and for being a great friend. I wouldn’t have accomplished as much as I have the last few months if it weren’t for you. You are AWESOME, and I am so grateful to have you in my life.

Okay, that’s it. Well, I could go on…I could grouse about the fact that my husband’s Cowboys might make the playoffs, while my Redskins are totally dysfunctional. Okay, I should really stop now, because this is headed for dangerous territory here.

Thank you all so much for all the love you have shown for Lizzie and Cam this year! You guys ROCK!

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A Review of The Bridge of Deaths by M.C.V. Egan


My Review of The Bridge of Deaths

On August 15, 1939, a plane crashed into the water near a bridge in Denmark. Five men were killed; only the pilot survived. One of the men killed was Cesar Agustin Castillo, and it was his granddaughter, M.C.V. Egan, who decades later would begin a long journey into the past to discover exactly what happened aboard on that fateful day.

Her book, The Bridge of Deaths, is part fiction, part fact. She tells the story through three characters: Bill and Maggie, a young couple who meet in a London bookstore, and Catalina, a middle-aged woman in Florida who represents Ms. Egan herself. There is an instant connection between Bill and Maggie, although they aren’t sure why at first. He’s troubled by nightmares of being in cold, salty water, and of people he’s never met. Even though he’s been to a hypnotist, he feels like he isn’t getting any closer to the answers he’s looking for…until he meets Maggie. As their relationship begins, they realize there is more to their instant connection than either of them could have imagined.

Their search for answers to Bill’s nightmares leads them to Catalina, who is astounded by the shocking resemblance the young couple bears to people connected to her grandfather’s death. Catalina hopes that with the help of Bill and Maggie, she will be able to finally find the answers that she has been desperately seeking for so long. But will she really find the truth, or run into more brick walls? And will the answers Bill seeks threaten his new relationship with Maggie, and end it before it can truly begin, or will it prove that they truly belong together?

Ms. Egan effectively weaves her real mystery together with the fictional love story of Bill and Maggie. She has done exhaustive research on the plane crash, which happened just weeks before the start of WWII. I’m intrigued by what she has discovered, and it is hard not to discuss it with you, because I don’t want to give anything away. But I will say that I am definitely hooked, and I want to know more about what really happened in the days leading up to the crash, and what happened afterwards. My instincts kept screaming cover up. As the saying goes, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…I hope there is a follow up to this story. If not, I hope Ms. Egan keeps her readers updated on her website about her progress. This has elements for the romantic, the mystery buff, and the history buff that will keep you reading until the end.

About The Bridge of Deaths

TBOD-frontcover“M.C.V. Egan twists truth and fiction until you question your perceptions…it is a story of real love, triumph and search for self.” – Beckah Boyd @ The Truthful Tarot

5 out of 5 stars:  “An unusual yet much recommended read.” – Midwest Book Review

On August 15th, 1939, an English passenger plane from British Airways Ltd. crashed in Danish waters between the towns of Nykøbing Falster and Vordingborg. There were five casualties reported and one survivor. Just two weeks before, Hitler invaded Poland.

With the world at the brink of war, the manner in which this incident was investigated left much open to doubt. The jurisdiction battle between the two towns and the newly formed Danish secret police created an atmosphere of intrigue and distrust.

The Bridge of Deaths is a love story and a mystery. Fictional characters travel through the world of past life regressions and information acquired from psychics as well as archives and historical sources to solve “one of those mysteries that never get solved.” Based on true events and real people, The Bridge of Deaths is the culmination of 18 years of sifting through conventional and unconventional sources in Denmark, England, Mexico and the United States. The story finds a way to help the reader feel that s/he is also sifting through data and forming their own conclusions.

Cross The Bridge of Deaths into 1939, and dive into cold Danish waters to uncover the secrets of the G-AESY.

Get the revised 75th anniversary of The Bridge of Deaths on Amazon in ebook and paperback.

About the Author

MCVEgan-authorphotoM.C.V. Egan is the pen name chosen by Maria Catalina Vergara Egan. Catalina was born in Mexico City, Mexico in 1959, the sixth of eight children, in a traditional Catholic family.

From a very young age, she became obsessed with the story of her maternal grandfather, Cesar Agustin Castillo–mostly the story of how he died.

She spent her childhood in Mexico. When her father became an employee of The World Bank in Washington D.C. in the early 1970s, she moved with her entire family to the United States. Catalina was already fluent in English, as she had spent one school year in the town of Pineville, Louisiana with her grandparents. There she won the English award, despite being the only one who had English as a second language in her class.

In the D.C. suburbs she attended various private Catholic schools and graduated from Winston Churchill High School in Potomac, Maryland in 1977. She attended Montgomery Community College, where she changed majors every semester. She also studied in Lyons, France, at the Catholic University for two years. In 1981, due to an impulsive young marriage to a Viking (the Swedish kind, not the football player kind), Catalina moved to Sweden where she resided for five years and taught at a language school for Swedish, Danish, and Finnish businesspeople. She then returned to the USA, where she has lived ever since. She is fluent in Spanish, English, French and Swedish.

Maria Catalina Vergara Egan is married and has one son who, together with their five-pound Chihuahua, makes her feel like a full-time mother. Although she would not call herself an astrologer she has taken many classes and taught a few beginner classes in the subject.

The celebrated her 52nd birthday on July 2nd, 2011, and gave herself self-publishing The Bridge of Deaths as a gift.

Find M.C.V. Egan and The Bridge of Deaths on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and online.