She’s got to solve this—or her friends are sunk . . .
Kelly Jackson, manager of the Redwood Cove Bed and Breakfast, is fond of the Doblinsky brothers, Ivan and Rudy, members of the Silver Sentinels, a crew of crime-solving senior citizens in their Northern California seaside hamlet. After she discovers a jewel-encrusted dagger—with what appears to be dried blood on the blade—on their fishing boat, they share their family history with Kelly, and she learns that the knife may be part of a set from their long-ago childhood in Russia. Its sudden reappearance is eerie, but the mystery grows much more serious when a body is found on the boat. The victim was staying at Kelly’s inn, in town for a Russian Heritage Festival, and some of the organizers were clearly harboring some bitterness. But the story behind this murder seems as layered as a nesting doll—and Kelly’s feeling completely at sea . . .
About the Author
Janet Finsilver is the USA TODAY bestselling author of the Kelly Jackson mystery series. She worked in education for many years as a teacher, a program administrator, and a workshop presenter. Janet majored in English and earned a Master’s Degree in Education. She loves animals and has two dogs–Kylie and Ellie. Janet has ridden western style since she was a child and was a member of the National Ski Patrol. One of the highlights of her life was touching whales in the San Ignacio Lagoon. MURDER AT REDWOOD COVE, her debut mystery, was released on October 13, 2015. Her second book, MURDER AT THE MANSION, was released on June 7, 2016. Book 3, MURDER AT THE FORTUNE TELLER’S TABLE was released on March 14, 2017.
by Reno Ursal
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance/Magical Realism
Release Date: November 20th 2018Summary:
Set in Las Vegas, 18-year-old Dorothy Dizon’s life takes an unexpected turn when the alluring Adrian Rosario peaks her curiosity by his knowledge of obscure Filipino folklore.
Adrian keeps his Danag secret society hidden knowing she’s embarked on a transformational journey tied to her Filipino ancestry. Together, they struggle through a supernatural ride that changes not only their lives, but of everyone they love.
“For his fantasy series opener, Ursal provides a banquet of cultural textures about the Philippines without sacrificing a brisk pace and smooth prose.” – Kirkus Reviews, January 2019
Readers Favorite Review
“At each stage there are historical and cultural references to explain the antecedents to the coming crisis, putting the entire situation into the larger context of good versus evil. I found the best parts of the story to be the cultural wrappings Reno Ursal sprinkled so generously throughout the tale.” Dan Kalin, Readers Favorite, March 2019
About the Author
Filipino American author and reader on a journey of self-discovery and reflection through the power of storytelling. No history, no self. Know history, know self.
Title: THE EVERLASTING ROSE (The Belles #2) Author: Dhonielle Clayton Pub. Date: March 5, 2019 Publisher: Freeform Formats: Hardcover, eBook, audiobook Pages: 352 Find it:Goodreads, Amazon, Audible, B&N, iBooks, TBD
In this sequel to the instant New York Times bestseller, Camille, her sister Edel, and her guard and new love Remy must race against time to find Princess Charlotte. Sophia’s Imperial forces will stop at nothing to keep the rebels from returning Charlotte to the castle and her rightful place as queen. With the help of an underground resistance movement called The Iron Ladies-a society that rejects beauty treatments entirely-and the backing of alternative newspaper The Spider’s Web, Camille uses her powers, her connections and her cunning to outwit her greatest nemesis, Sophia, and restore peace to Orleans.
Lovable ne’er-do-well Delilah Dirk has travelled to Japan, Indonesia, France, and even the New World. Using the skills she’s picked up on the way, Delilah’s adventures continue as she plots to rob a rich and corrupt Sultan in Constantinople. With the aid of her flying boat and her newfound friend, Selim, she evades the Sultan’s guards, leaves angry pirates in the dust, and fights her way through the countryside. For Delilah, one adventure leads to the next in this thrilling and funny installment in her exciting life.
A little bit Tintin, a little bit Indiana Jones, Delilah Dirk is a great pick for any reader looking for a smart and foolhardy heroine… and globetrotting adventures.
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Baby Julia Kent
(Shopping for a Billionaire #13)
Publication date: April 24th 2018
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
You know what’s even better than marrying a billionaire? Having his baby.
We’re ready. We’ve studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it’s time.
And by we I mean me.
Declan’s just ready for the “have lots of sex” part. More than ready.
But there’s just one problem: my husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition.
And by little, I mean stupid.
We’re not just about to try to bring a new human being into the world.
We have to do it better, Faster, Stronger.
McCormick men don’t just have babies.
They engage in competitive billionaire Babythons.
I thought the hardest part about getting pregnant would be dealing with my grandchild-crazed mother, who will go nuts shopping for a billionaire’s baby.
Between conception issues, my mother’s desire to talk to the baby through a hoo-haw cam, a childbirth class led by a drill sergeant and a father-in-law determined to sign the kid up for prep school before Declan even pulls out, my pregnancy has turned out to be one ordeal after the other.
But it’s nothing — nothing — compared to the actual birth.
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Baby is the newest book in Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series.
First morning urine is precious cargo. My Kegel muscles kick in and I halt midstream, panicking, my wet thighs making me slip slightly forward on the toilet seat, and–
I drop the test into the toilet.
“DAMN!” I scream. My vaginal wall muscles are clamped down like the Hoover Dam holding back an unexpected early thaw, and I involuntarily shake the urine off my hand, flinging droplets all over the rest of me. I jump up, turn around, and try to retrieve the ruined test.
Just then, a whuff of cold air assaults my bare ass. Declan has apparently opened the bathroom door.
“What’s wrong? I heard you scream. Are you…” His voice trails off as I look at him, hand in the toilet, naked ass on display, single-handedly proving that taking a pregnancy test is, in fact, rocket science after all.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he says softly, closing the door before bursting into laughter.
Now I know why they sell pregnancy tests in packages of two.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
A hilarious yet dark novel on how power, and the lack of it, shapes people.
Luca’s job is being a punch bag, a tea towel, a toilet bowl, to the undeniable and unbreakable king of egg power proud of averaging two hundred flights a year to visit chicken markets around the world.
Anna moved to Catania to work for caper queen Madame Sicily, fulfilling varied tasks from picking up Céline swimwear before it hits the runways to recovering badly parked Lamborghinis.
La Revolução dreams through buildings but builds parking spaces, when she’s not helping launder money for her boss’s dad’s dodgy charities.
And finally, Carolina is out to conspire with Paquita who met their boss the German in a red lit booth, to understand why the man has to drain the passion out of everything. Their fates will inevitably collide. The question is, will their bosses get what they deserve?
At the office, Macco One’s sickened secretary barely acknowledges me. She firmly maintains that it is sickening to work in our place, Macco One’s place, says that it is not about the chickens but the cocks, ‘Too many big cocks flying around.’ I have never known her on a high. I leave the box of Indian sweets I bought her by the pot plant on her desk and hope that they poison her, ending her ordeal. (Luca)
The thought of my boss’s iron calves ungoverned scares me. Is it panic or an absolute type of anger? Does he know what he is angry about?’ Ignorance about one’s anger can be harder to deal with than deliberate devil. Sometimes I have nightmares where he chops my arm with the drama of a man picking cherries. (Carolina)
I cannot leave the swimwear on the bike. It is a church, Saint Agatha. No one should steal it by the virgin’s gate. But even so. These people cannot help themselves. They all want to look good at Mondello this summer. (Anna)
Irajá, which means beehive, is stunning, very pale with dark hair, so pale you can see millions of small blue veins through the skin of her face and neck, giving her a magical tinge. This is not the kind of woman you can imagine doing ordinary things like shitting or clipping her toenails. (La Revolução)
I’m crying on Paquita’s shoulders yet again. Her jumper is cheap cashmere. She is small and delicate and perfectly proportionate like a kid’s mannequin. And I am totally aware that this is the strangest of arrangements. (Carolina)
She is not Fuksas. Even if Irajá is convinced that in her heart she is a great architect with a social vision. I guess it keeps her away from pretending to be something more dangerous. When she purses her lips, the natives show fright on their faces and for a moment I expect a long viper tongue to come out pushing against her lips. I think they do too… This pale bundle of nerves is so thin and young, must be less than fifty kilos, below twenty five years of age. Any of those native hands could easily crush her to the ground, but they are afraid. (La Revolução)
Read a Snippet:
I stick out like a sore thumb on my bike in this town, my red curls to the wind, racing through the streets in the old centre, between the ruins of the Greco-Roman theatre in Piazza Stesicoro, up Via Etnea to Piazza Università. That is my first scheduled stop today, at a friend of Madame Sicily. This friend has had the latest Céline swimwear delivered three weeks before it hits the runways.
Madame Sicily had a preview of the collection sent last week in high resolution on her iPhone 6. I printed it for her two days ago on high quality glossy paper, as instructed. She glanced at it in the car whilst travelling to an important meeting in an upmarket country club outside Catania. I waited in the car with Rodolfo, her driver, whilst she went into the meeting, and when Madame Sicily came out she said the meeting had gone well. She gave me back the glossy papers, she had ticked five models. She was happy.
As a result, today I am carrying a 1,500 euro cheque in my right hand pocket. It’s heavy against the light fabric of my ten euro H&M pantacourt that fit me well last summer. I am wearing it today despite it being only April; April is already hot in Catania. The cheque will cover the purchase of an immaculate white bandeau one-piece with a large rose at the right hand breast, a red playboy in Lycra with plunge halter neck to the belly button around which there is an embroidered daisy motif, a Bond girl bombshell two piece in neon orange, and two other plunging necklines, one white and another black, both with the traditional Céline chains design in gold. Madame Sicily has said to her friend Maria Luisa that she needs to get these pieces today, to try them on and decide before her May break on the Agnellini boat in Sardinia. She says if she does not have them today, she will not go. They and the smuggled collagen suppositories from some doctor in Miami are her two requirements ahead of this trip.
Madame Sicily is constantly threatening people in this way and it works for her. So much so that I would go and get these costumes collected today even if I were run over by a maniac en route. I would still get to Maria Luisa, down on my bloodied knees. She would have the package ready, for her own sake, and I would pick the stuff and get to deliver it to the office on time, stain free. I would delicately hand it over to Madame Sicily, and only then I would be allowed to die.
About the Author:
Mari.Reiza was born in Madrid in 1973. She studied at Oxford University and worked as an investment research writer and management consultant for twenty years in London, before becoming an indie fiction writer. Also by her, Inconceivable Tales, Death in Pisa, Sour Pricks, A Pack of Wolves, STUP, Mum, Watch Me Have Fun!, Marmotte’s Journey, West bEgg, PHYSICAL, Room 11, Triple Bagger, Opera and the Retreat, all available on Amazon.
Nikki is a young girl who loves everything about her natural hair. She loves all of the hairstyles she can do and matching with mommy and friends!
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Nailah Jones is a natural haired girl from Snellville, Georgia. After years of getting relaxers, she realized her natural hair better fit her identity and later decided to go back to her natural roots. She has now had locs for two
years and counting. Nailah thinks that it is important to let other natural girls in her community know how beautiful their natural hair is, so they never have to wonder!
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I’m an only child and entertained myself for long hours when I was a young. I loved stories, jokes, and my family was very outgoing, verbal and funny. I loved to listen to people tell stories, to read stores, films and the inspiration was that I wanted to be able to “do that.”
How often do you write?
I generally write every day unless something comes up to force a distraction. It’s a natural thing that I HAVE to do. If I don’t get to write something…a sentence… a phrase or description of something or someone I feel cheated.
Do you have a set schedule for writing, or are you one of those who write only when they feel inspired?
I’m a morning person, well, after coffee, and that is when my mind is fresh to write. I’ve found that I can think of an issue the night before and by the morning I have a better idea about how to express that concern. Sometimes, however I jump up in the middle of the night to write down a thought that has come to me, least it totally vanishes by the morning’s light. I go over and edit what I’ve written at different times as that is not as creative, but at least I can see what I don’t like and mark it for a revisit later, when I’m fresh like in the morning.
How hard was it to sit down and actually start writing something?
Not hard for me. I don’t force things. That usually has a bad outcome.
Do you aim to complete a set number of pages or words each day?
No. Turns out I usually get 2-3 pages a day on average. Sometimes that is spread all over the book as I go back over a sentence in one place and add a fresh paragraph in another. If I have a scene that I’m planning and concentrate on it, I can get 2-3 pages done sometimes before the juice goes flat.
Writers are often associated with loner tendencies; is there any truth to that?
Well it’s hard to write in the middle of a crowd. I think the act of putting words down on paper almost has to be solitary.
Do you think writers have a normal life like others?
I do. Although the routine of when I write is less spontaneous than not writing, I can’t say the rest of it is not normal. How else would I get ideas if not among people?
Do you set a plot or prefer going wherever an idea takes you?
Often, I have an outline of where I want the story to go, but it works best when the story takes over and goes where it wants to go with me trying to keep up.
Follow the Book Tour Jay Beck has continued writing about the fascinating adventures of political consultant, Mark Young, in his next book, “Casting Stones.” Set in Greece during the 1985 elections, the historical novel pits the United States against the Soviet Union in a battle over Greece’s future political economic soul.
The novel is set in the turbulent times of airline hijackings, terror bombing and assassinations. The Soviet KGB, Greek secret police and terrorists all conspire against Mark Young as he tries to win a national election while simultaneously rescuing the most valuable ancient sculpture ever created.
Mark is torn between the turmoil in Greece and a critical situation threatening to end his relationship with his girlfriend, Vicki back in Washington, D.C. All of these diverse threads come together in an unexpected and thrilling conclusion.
By writing fiction, I’ve try to expand on my history and the events I have observed. I still have a long way to go in tapping into all of that rich material, particularly since politics and entertainment so often go hand in hand, as I hope I have demonstrated in my work. These will be exciting areas for me to investigate and discuss while I continue to write about them. As I mentioned earlier, the third book in the trilogy concerns the interactions between the campaigns and the time of history of Ross Perot, Bill Clinton, and George Bush, a vast political world for me to plumb. I have stories to tell.
Beth pushes beyond her comfort zone to prove a sociology thesis. She turns a chance meeting with a known player into a personal experiment on first impressions. Weaving herself into casual meetings with the guy reinforces her assumptions… until she’s no longer the one pursuing him.
Jeremy’s only serious relationship is with his studies as he competes for the coveted post-grad theoretical chem spot with Dr. Young. When the campus goes into lockdown and everyone is evacuated to the stadium, his habit of “fun only” friendships turns into a curse.
Can he trust a skittish girl he’s known for ten days to help him find his not-so-theoretical chem project or will her assumptions about him keep her at arm’s length?
Final Year – a fast-paced new adult romantic suspense that keeps you guessing at every turn.
If Beth had known befriending Jeremy’s womanizing ass would lead to this, the apology she’d made seven days ago might have been her farewell, too.
Shivering from a brief gust of wind, she zipped up her jacket and continued to pace. The dim light of the underground passageway clashed with the harsh, grey November day breaking through the ivy at the tunnel mouth. The intermittent wail of the campus alarm made Beth’s nerves spike. I should be heading to thestadium with everyone else, just like I told him. Why am I still here?
Echoes of curiosity jarred with concern as passing voices filtered into the tunnel from the distant crowd beyond the treeline.
I’m not supposed to be here.
You can’t ignore what you saw. If anything happens to him between the tunnel and the stadium, you’ve only yourself to blame.
But he’s a sweet talker. Used to getting his way–
“Gah!” She pressed her fists to her forehead fighting against common sense, logic, the need to follow the rules and still do what’s right. The war between her brain and her gut waged on as the scent of the dank earth and moist concrete clung to the hairs at the back of her nose. Beth drew a deep breath through her mouth to avoid the scent of decay.
A pebble clattered from the depths of the darkened tunnel. She froze. Her heart raced–Run! Leave. Follow the crowd. That could beanyone. She wanted to obey, but couldn’t. Beth barely knew the guy but something–Footsteps. Foot drags. A stuttered stumble and a familiar curse echoed from down the tunnel.
“Jeremy?” Elspeth breathed.
The drip from some distant pipe echoed.
“Elle? You stayed?” He sucked air in between his teeth.
She gave a grim smile at Jeremy’s nickname for her, then breached the darkness of the deeper tunnel, dragging her frantic heart back into the abyss. Relax already. It’s probably a false alarm.Precautionary evacuation. The light in this section burned out, and lack of maintenance meant it would stay that way. The imposing darkness had nothing to do with someone threatening the campus.
In the gloom, she found Jeremy hunched over, leaning heavily against the wall. One hand cradled his head, the other gripped the concrete with pale knuckles. The whiteness of them made her skin crawl, or was it the damp air? She touched his arm.
“Lack of insulin – catching up to me. Making me nauseated. Weak.” He drew in a heavy breath.
“We have to get to the stadium. I’m sure they’ll have medics there–”
“No. Just get me to the pharmacy. I need my medicine.”
“It wasn’t in your room?”
He pushed himself from the wall and stumbled forward. His knees gave out. Shit! He’s not acting.
“Okay! Just give me a minute.” Beth surveyed the situation. He’d forgotten his coat and the wind would pierce his sweater in no time. She liked oversized jackets, but his shoulders were twice a broad as hers. Still… Beth unzipped her coat and pulled her right arm from her sleeve before kneeling down beside Jeremy. Loose gravel bit into her knees. She couldn’t see him well, but the droop of his neck and outline of his parted lips told her she’d made the right decision. Six days ago, Beth had been mistaken and she couldn’t afford a repeat of that ignorance. “Put your arm across my back and grip my left shoulder.” He placed it over the coat.
“Under my coat, Jeremy. The temperature has dropped. Wind chill.”
He carefully slid his arm across her back. She allowed him to breach her bubble of comfort. The jacket pulled tight and tugged against the strain. A brash flitting of her heart startled Beth, causing her to stiffen. Get it together, Donaldson! You’re barely friends. She made herself shift closer to his lean torso and turned her head toward him as she draped the open-half of her jacket across his back. The tip of her nose accidently brushed his ear. He startled at the contact. She couldn’t help but wonder if the jolt was from her unwanted touch or from the feel of her heart pounding against the side of his chest. What are you doing? Is this really necessary? Just gethim to safety already!
“Grab the sleeve. Slide it on if you can. Make sure your shoulder’s covered.” Beth slid her hand across his back, noting the contour of each taut muscle and caught her breath. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to a guy. Stop it. You’re not histype. He’s not your type. She moved her fingers, searching for the best grip to help him up, even as their bodies crushed against each other inside her woefully undersized jacket. His torso expanded and contracted as she felt him force slow, deep breaths. Shifting her arm across his spine, Beth settled her hand just under his ribcage.
Grunting and gasping, they struggled to stand. Beth gripped him tighter for stability. The alarm wailed yet another warning, followed by a cop’s bull-horn-voice directing the masses to the stadium. Jeremy flinched, sensitive to the harsh sound, as always. The hair on Beth’s arms and the back of her neck rose. Her insides tried to flee one way as she forced herself to go in another direction.
They stumbled then walked as one, slowly matching their steps and finding a rhythm – just as they had muddled their way these past weeks chatting over coffee.
Beth used her free arm as a counter-balance. The ivy at the opening to the tunnel wisped against her face. She shut her eyes against the daylight.
“Wait. I can’t see yet,” she said. He stopped, allowing her eyes to adjust. She cracked a lid, slowly gaining her bearings. The crisp air bit at her throat as she searched the branching walkway before them. A wall of bushes blocked all but the top of nearby stores.
“Where’s your pharmacy?” Beth asked, squinting. The noise of the evacuation hit her full-force now they were outside, but no one walked on this side of the hedge.
“Other side of the bushes,” he said.
“Have you come this way before?” she asked.
“We’re surrounded by nine-foot hedges. Which way?” She turned them as she looked left and right.
He vaguely waved his hand. “Through. It thins a bit to the right, I believe.”
Beth moved them closer. Surprisingly, there was a break in the trunks covered by drooping branches.
“How on earth did you find this spot?”
“I’ve had a lot of time on campus to discover the best routes to and from certain places. This was a happy accident in my second year.”
“Something tells me this isn’t the first time you’ve stumbled over here with a girl.”
He smirked. She glanced at his loose, shaggy, blond curls, and ice-grey eyes before shaking her head. Leave him. Just leave him. Hewon’t care about you once he’s got his meds. You’re only a tool, Beth.Yeah, a real tool. But she couldn’t leave, and not just because she felt the quake of his ailing body… From the moment she first saw him, her intuition overruled plain and simple logic.
They pushed through the greenery and emerged on the local campus road, thick with students and professors heading down the extra-wide path toward the stadium.
Jeremy stumbled over the curb. Beth cursed herself for not warning him, tightened her grip around his waist, and widened her stride to compensate. His fingers dug into her shoulder as he staggered, dragging her farther into the crowd. People swarmed around them, jostling and commenting with disgust.
“Which way?” she asked. He leaned on her, his weight making her stagger.
“Should be just ahead. Shop’s in the corner of the plaza.”
Beth squinted through the crowd. The excitement ran the gamut from near-running strides on the edge of hysteria to small groups of friends pushing and shoving each other as if they knew this was a false-alarm. She could still see the top of the long building adjacent them, but no store signs. Too many people. Beth didn’t often travel this way on campus, it always felt so isolated from the main concourse and lecture halls. But not now. She could barely move.
Faceless bodies blocked her view. No one bothered to clue-in that they needed help. Disembodied voices assaulted her ears as she elbowed her way through the throng of students.
“–might be terrorism!” a group of girls shrieked, then whimpered as they passed. Jeremy’s body stiffened.
“–the police say emergency evacuation but no explanation,” a guy tried to make sense of the situation.
Beth pushed them through a small break, but the crowd’s comments lingered like an aftershock.
“I thought I saw the police with the Dean. Whatever it is, it’s serious.”
“–think it’s a bomb. What else could it be?” Jeremy’s breath hitched at the comment and he coughed, his whole body shuddering.
The alarm wailed. Both of them jumped. Then the voice of the bull-horn cop carried above everyone. Jeremy slammed his free hand over an ear, bashing his head against Beth’s to cover the other ear.
“Keep calm but keep moving. This is an emergency evacuation. Keep calm but keep moving. Head to the stadium.”
Beth glanced along the road, following the weave of bodies down the hill to the safe-zone.
We have to get out of here.
No. You promised you’d help him to the pharmacy.
A bulky guy in a red York U jersey cut them off. Beth nearly rebounded off his bicep; his cologne reeked of musk and sweat. Coughing, she turned her head and found her nose buried in Jeremy’s collar. The scent of Irish Spring cleared her head. Travelling against the mob wasn’t helping their situation. Jeremy wavered.
“Steady there!” She squeezed to keep him upright as jolts of fear lit up her nervous-system.
“Not so tight–”
“Sorry.” She let go of his stomach to hug his ribcage instead. He dropped several inches and walked with bent knees. With Jeremy being half-a-foot taller it didn’t make hauling him around any easier.
Beth tripped over a passing foot. Come on!
“Hey! Watch out.” The owner of the foot scowled. Jeremy counter-balanced to help keep them standing. More and more students and professors careened past, yelling and calling to each other; some carried stacks of books, others were on their cell phones waving their hands at people who couldn’t see them, but all headed to the stadium just off campus. Exactly where we should be going, too.
“We’re almost there,” she assured. They were more than half-way across the asphalt path now. A faint ray of sunlight broke through the grey clouds and glinted off a modern-looking glass door above which the word PHARMACY was spelled in red block letters.
“There’s an old guy with silver-streaked hair locking up.” That’s not helpful. “Wait!” Beth called. The bodies on the street absorbed her voice. It disappeared, much the same way she did in a crowd. “Mister–”
Jeremy winced. “–probably Pelbourne.”
“Mr. Pelbourne! Wait!”
He turned. She waved wildly at him. The man dropped his keys when he saw them, a flash of disbelief crossing his face. Then he snatched his keys up and strode the last remaining steps between them. He looped Jeremy’s free arm around his shoulder and helped Beth carry him to the storefront.
“Jeremy, what in God’s name are you doing?” Pelbourne asked.
“My medication–” Jeremy leaned against the display window, trying to breathe slowly, deeply. His curls hung moist and limp as his long fingers left smears of cold sweat on the glass. Beth had never seen him this out-of-sorts, the cocky confidence gone. She pulled the jacket from him, back around her shoulder. The wind didn’t cut into the shop corner as it had out in the open.
“My prescription. I need a refill.”
“What am I supposed to do? They told us to leave immediately. There’s an emergen–”
“This is an emergency,” Beth said, following the pharmacist’s gaze as he watched the mass of evacuating people; then he glanced at his watch.
“Please,” she said. He had to help, for Jeremy’s sake.
“Where are the pills I gave you a couple of weeks ago? The prescription’s good for a month.”
“Gone,” Jeremy said.
“Stolen from his dorm room,” Beth clarified, assuming, but it sounded bad even to her ears. She hoped Jeremy’s reputation ended with the ladies and didn’t carry over into selling off his prescriptions. “It’s been over…”
“A week.” Jeremy provided, placing an awkward hand on Pelbourne’s arm. His pale, icy eyes vainly sought a connection with the pharmacist. Beth squeezed her fists tight in the confines of her jacket pockets and stared at the man.
Mr. Pelbourne sighed. His keys jingled as he pulled them out again. I should leave now. The pharmacist can help Jeremy. And yet, Beth found herself resuming her role as a crutch while Pelbourne unlocked the store.
Inside, behind the drug counter, the pharmacist automatically reached for an empty bottle and the medication. Beth sat Jeremy down in a blood-pressure chair. She cringed at the grey wash of his face, making his eyes almost disappear.
“We talked about this,” Pelbourne grumbled, glancing at the time again. “You can’t forget about your medicine even if you don’t need it as often any more. The diabetes is unforgiving – your body is struggling to access your insulin supplies. I–” He opened and closed his mouth a few times then shook his head. “I’m just repeating myself. I’ll put a note on your file. We don’t have time to do this properly. Grab a bottle of water for him, young lady, he’s probably parched.”
“Yes, Mr. Pelbourne–” they said together.
Back outside, Beth waved off the pharmacist’s efforts to help her with Jeremy.
“Are you sure?” Pelbourne asked.
No. “We’re gonna stop a minute so he can take his meds, then we’ll catch up.”
Jeremy finished a swig of water, “S’okay, Mr. P. We’re right behind you.”
The pharmacist glanced at his watch. “If I didn’t have to meet my wife, I’d– She’s a– Well, she worries and– You sure you’re okay?”
Jeremy nodded. Pelbourne joined the wave of pedestrians heading for the safe zone. Beth turned, leading Jeremy to the parkette behind the plaza. Every nerve in her body screamed she was going the wrong way. They walked with the crowd to the end of the building then moved off toward the manicured green-space just behind.
“Careful, now,” she said, lowering him to a wooden bench. She sat, too, and fought with the cap on his pills as he rested, head down, forearms on knees. Beth stared at him, so lost and alone. Where were his buddies? Did no one else think to check on him? A strange ache welled up in her chest. She swallowed, forcing it down before refocusing. Her freckled skin pulled with tension as the ribbed plastic bit into her flesh. The burn of it grinding against her palm made the image of the sexy red-head Jeremy followed from the restaurant pop to mind; the perky blonde he’d paced himself to meet outside the pub; and the dark-haired, dark-skinned, beauty
leaving the dorm the day of her surprise visit. Each time her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Why the hell am I here? Where arethey?
The cap popped. She dropped an Amaryl in his outstretched hand then swiped a tendril of light-brown hair from her face, locking it firmly behind an ear. Downing the pill, Jeremy then chugged the rest of the water. Beth tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin.
Neither of them spoke.
She stared at his right ear.
He faced the ground.
The wind gusted past and he shuddered. Part of her wanted to slide over and wrap a protective arm around him, and the other part, well, she wasn’t so sure he deserved her walking off right now. Perhaps a week ago, but not now.
“This isn’t going to cure me,” he said.
“Nothing will cure you. I’m not an idiot. It will help. You said it would help. Maybe I should take you to a medic if it’s that bad.”
“No. It doesn’t work that fast. I’ve been off them a while now.”
“It. Will. Help. Maybe I should get you another water.” She stood, ready to search the shops nearby.
“No. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” She flopped down again, jamming her hands into her jacket pockets, wanting to stick her face in front of his to make her point but knowing the futility of it – of pitting her will against his.
“I will be. Besides, I need your help.”
“As much as I should, I promise I won’t leave you here. We’ll go to the stadium toge–”
“I’m not going to the stadium.”
“What?” What now? I can’t–
“I didn’t just go back to my dorm for the medicine.”
“The medicine that wasn’t there?”
“Right. The medicine that I knew wasn’t there. I went back for my experiment.”
Beth bristled. You lied to me? “Why? It’s safe,” she said, her voice clipped, edged with anger.
“Actually, it’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
He briefly massaged his temples with one hand. “My pills weren’t the only things missing.”
About M.J.:Growing up in Ontario, Canada, MJ was the only child of a single mom. MJ’s passion for the arts ignited at a young age as she wrote
adventure stories and read them aloud to close family and friends. The dramatic arts became a focus in high school as an aid to understanding character motivation in her writing. Majoring in Theatre Production at University, with a minor in English, she went on to teach both elementary and high school for 10 years throughout Simcoe County.
MJ currently lives with her husband and young son in Caledon, Ontario. She keeps busy these days with her emerging authors’ website Infinite Pathways: hosting writing contests, providing editing services, free publicity tips, book reviews, and opportunities for authors to build their writing platform and portfolio. In addition she writes articles, works freelance writing and editing, and is preparing to launch her first science fiction novel The Chronicles of Xannia: Time’s Tempest on October 1st, 2014. She firmly believes that if she hadn’t been born a Virgo, she would not be half as organized as necessary to accomplish everything in her daily agenda.