Look out, Pascagoula, I’m signing at the Zonta Arts & Crafts Festival on Saturday, October 1st. This is my first festival so I’m ready for everything, except rain. I’m supposed to have a booth on the north side at 711 Delmas Avenue, south about 2 blocks from my old home at 711 Krebs Avenue. That gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling of being back home. As you can see by the picture, I have my books, my grandmother’s handmade tablecloth, electrical cord, fan (I don’t do heat and I live in South Mississippi), scissors, box for drawing for a $15 Amazon gift card, lip gloss, hat, sunglasses, Yeti, pens and a notebook in case I have time to write. Did I forget anything? Whether you are a reader or not, I hope all my old friends and new ones will stop by and say hi. Please share, call, knock on doors, whatever to spread the word. See you Saturday!
Yes! Crescent Moon is now available on Amazon. While Unconditional Surrender is a book that I lived for a time. . Crescent Moon is a nightmare, a fear. Not the writing, or the plot, but the very idea. I have a friend who is too frightened to read suspense and thrillers. I hate to tell her, it’s even scarier to write one. I write every character to have a motive and opportunity to be the murderer, then I figure out why they couldn’t do it, until I come up with the killer. If you read Crescent Moon, please let me know if you uncovered the murderer and when. I’m curious to see it from a different perspective. Presently I’m in the process of writing the next book in the series using the heroine’s sister as my new central character. Recently someone asked me what author is similar to my style. I hope my suspense is similar to those I really respect, like Sandra Brown, Erika Spindler, and Tami Hoag, to name just a few. Here’s a little sample. Enjoy
He sat in the hard wooden chair at the end of the table, like a corporate giant ruling his boardroom. Crossing one leg over the other, he rested his ankle on his knee and his Stetson on the table. His long legs appeared to go on forever.
Morgan was tall—perhaps six foot four. Celine St. Pierre had been short. Claressa made a mental note to check with forensics. The angle of the impact could be another strike for the prosecution.
“I didn’t kill her.”
“But you were in her house on November 21.” Claressa scrutinized his face. The day-old beard. The haggard, rebellious look. She knew he’d been there. She had no doubt at all.
“I think that’s enough. My client has no more to say.” Like rotating apes on a carousel, it was Matthew’s turn to speak.
“One more question.”
“No,” Hebert stated.
Why? She wanted to badger West Morgan until he spilled the truth. She knew how, what, where, and who. All she needed was why. What was his motive?
As his attorneys escorted him from the room, Claressa threw one last question at him. “Are you left-handed?”
West Morgan stopped at the doorway, glared over his shoulder at her and answered, “Unfortunately, Ms. Dupré, I’m ambidextrous.”