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Iyer
A construction crew unearthed the forgotten kudzu-covered shack
while clearing
land for a new development. Roots and rot destroyed
everything inside except for six photos of little girls, lovingly framed and
tacked to the plank wall.
Detective Janet Forman recognized only one of the faces. Eight-year-old
Violet Hamm had gone missing over sixty years ago. Other girls had disappeared
then, too, but Violet was a local girl, and her fate had become the warning of every
mother in town: “Be careful, or you’ll get snatched like Violet Hamm, never to
be seen again.” Janet had heard it from her mother.
“Is there a basement?” she asked one of the officers.
“Yeah, but it’s full of mud and critters, and the stairs are
rickety.”
“Show me.”
Halfway down the flight, she detected the tiny mounds on the
basement floor.
“Get a crew in here. Dig it up, and be careful.”
Lewis
Pacing, his body remembered her shiny, blond hair, crystal
blue eyes, and smooth, silky skin that glowed like only a thirteen-year old
girl’s could. He couldn’t wait to touch her, to feel her, to taste her. His
hands stroked down his chest to his belly.
He smiled thinking about his first, Abigail. Her screams. That first month, she screamed a
lot. He should have probably let her go after two. A mistake he wouldn’t make
with Grace.
The bathroom door opened revealing her in silhouette. She
looked shorter and wider. Stepping into the light made it worse. Her blonde
hair had turned curly and dirty. Her nose was wide and broken the way porcelain
breaks. She looked like a forgotten picture from the last century.
This couldn’t be the same girl. This girl made him want to
scream. “Grace?”
“I think you met my great, great, great granddaughter,
Abigail.”
That first month, he screamed a lot.
Sartor
“Leave it alone,” Mom quietly reminded me every time we
visited the cabin.
Now the run-down cabin was mine, and it was time to rid the
place of that ugly picture.
I gripped the edges of the antique frame and pulled.
Nothing, except a muscle quiver in my arms.
Grabbing my crowbar, I pried upward beneath the frame. An
instant later a shimmery wave flowed through the cabin. The walls buckled, then
held. Well, Quantico was nearby, perhaps they were testing something new.
Not to be defeated, I grabbed my cordless saw and cut the
rough wood wall around the frame, cheering as it fell to the ground and the
glass shattered. Obscuring those haunting eyes and broken nose.
The wave hit again, knocking me to the ground. Moments
later, a child stood in front of me, her blue eyes glowing, her nose broken.
She smiled. “Your turn.”
I watched through shattered glass as she walked out the
door.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Polly Iyer
Polly Iyer is the Amazon bestselling author of nine books of suspense and mystery, one novella, and four sexy romances she writes under the pseudonym Maryn Sinclair. She started out as a fashion illustrator and storyboard artist, importer, and store owner before embarking on her fourth, and last career as an author. Her novels include four books in the Diana Racine Psychic Suspense series, Mind Games, Goddess of the Moon, Backlash, and The Scent of Murder; five standalone novels, Hooked, InSight, Murder Déjà Vu, Threads, Kindle Scout winner Indiscretion, and one novella, The Last Heist, from the anthology Lowcountry Crime. One reviewer described her stories as "...making heroes out of damaged people."
Two independent cases involving missing women vie for the attention of psychic Diana Racine and her life partner in crime, NOPD Lieutenant Ernie Lucier.
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| At Amazon |
In the first case, Diana and Lucier search for the missing mother of a street boy they've taken under their wing. In the process of finding her, they expose the secret underbelly of crime and corruption among some of the city's most upstanding citizens, while putting Diana's and the boy's life in jeopardy at the same time.
An eccentric socialite pressures Diana to rid her mansion of her twin sister's ghost in the second case. With no clues to go on, Diana and Lucier must first prove the missing sister is dead.
Howard Lewis
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The longer I live the more important I find laughter, although you couldn’t tell it from this story.
I’ve written three books—a cozy, a romance, and a young
adult. I prefer to think of myself as versatile instead of wishy-washy. Right
now, these books only live on my hard drive. If you want to read one, let me
know, but please, please don’t take my hard drive.
I ended up in the foothills with two horses, a mule, three
dogs and some pretty fish.
In my spare time, I teach tai chi, write, ride and work
wood.
It’s a good life!
For more pictures of my guys, blogs, and a few videos, check me out at www.howardglewis.com
L.A. Sartor
I started writing as a child, really. A few things happened
on the way to becoming a published author … specifically, a junior high school
teacher who told me I couldn’t write because I didn’t want to study … urk …
grammar…
That English teacher stopped my writing for years. But the muse couldn’t be denied, and
eventually I wrote, a lot, some of it award winning. However, I wasn’t really
making a career from any of this.
My husband told me repeatedly that independent publishing
was becoming a valid way to publish a novel. I didn’t believe him even after he
showed me several Wall Street Journal
articles. I thought indie meant vanity press.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I started pursuing this direction seriously, hit the
keyboard, learned a litany of new things and published my first novel. My
second book became a bestseller, and I’m absolutely on the right course in my
life.
Please come visit me at www.lasartor.com,
see my books, find my social media links, and sign up for my mailing list. I have a gift I’ve specifically
created for my new email subscribers. And remember, you can email me at
Leslie@LeslieSartor.com
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