Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
"Be Joyful!" The implication that all this hate and violence must be done joyfully as to the Lord...NOT...
Imagine my surprise when, in the next portion of this book, MONEY, that I am reading, was an actual overview of many of those individuals, families, or organizations who actually provide what we now call "dark money." Meaning that "nobody" (i.e., those of us who don't have the technical skills) really can trace where the actual money that is funding political activities is coming from. Except of course from E. Musk who publicly advertises to give away money to buy elections or spending his money loudly and often in other ways... while having no problem firing and taking away money from we who actually need our income to daily live our lives.
Given the number of footnotes by this author, readers will discover that this book has been more than well researched! Can you imagine "following the money" back to the sources of the millions/billions of dollars that seem to be supplied routinely, especially to the MAGA side of our government? For me, losing a year of my life trying to ascertain how/when/where millions of dollars in capital money was spent and who got that money, I can tell you, it is mind-boggling and a major work effort. Thank you Katherine Stewart for this extraordinarily well written book and the effort it has to have taken to search out needed information and then to share it!
Because I was, and I believe also many readers. will be shocked to learn of the "whys" behind wanting to give money away to politics. They can be narrowed down to, in my opinion, wanting recognition, wanting power, and being lied into thinking you are doing something good...for whatever purpose you've accepted...
First, at the end of Part 1, I asked you to think about which group you might fit into... I realized that in reading that might have been a rhetorical question rather than a request... So, let me be clear, if you are NOT part of or support this plan (formally called Project 2025: Mandate for Leadership--and I just did a search! You can download a pdf copy for free if you care to do so), you are not part of the dark money investigation that was undertaken... You can be sure that I'll be referring to passages of Project 2025 in the future! Have you heard the word Mandate thrown around by Trump?! Well this is the mandate he is referring to! NONE of what is being done was the brainchild of the president of the United States... think about that! Further, as we have been finding out, NONE of what is being done by this administration is as reported are priorities for US--the Citizens of This Country! Instead it is a plan that was created by Trump supporters and other far right conservatives who...are...funders and supporters of what is happening right now!
Wallbuilders president (one of the formal groups) Tim Barton creates and provides "bogus" Christian National history to conservatives audiences. He quickly throws out facts and stats so as to imply that this is and has been a legitimate religion which just happens to be made up of MAGA supporters and all in support of Project 2025, including Funders. The intent of Barton is to make the audience believe what he is saying is true since he knows it so well and speaks fluently... Barton blames the decision by the Supreme Court for banning prayer in schools... Now if I remember correctly, at first prayer was not banned, it went to a silent moment of prayer, which would allow those of different faiths to act based upon their personal beliefs. In any event, I was there when the separation of church and state came into existence... After I thought about it, I realized that, while religion might be a part thought about, it was primarily to allow stores to remain open on Sundays (the Christian holy day) so that the millions of people who worked swing shifts could buy groceries, etc., on their days off...You know, those working in hospitals, cleaning staff who were required to work when the business was not open...school staffs at all levels... Many Christians are working in such jobs. And was it not Jesus who said to us put away the rules and simply love your neighbor? Something that never really happened since the Old Testament is still considered by many the Word of God, even though it has been translated from one language to another, edited by individuals who proofread it for content--you get the idea, especially since there have been many inconsistencies already discovered, questioned, and, simply, ignored by some...
The following might not be the song referenced, but it seemed appropriate since Christianity is being used by thousands of different groups who are calling themselves Christian Nationalists with goals of hate, action against non-white or minority people, and...violence...
Issue 1. This is what they have done,” Robert Busch writes to me with weary outrage as he forwards a photograph of a group of nuns, one of them wearing a STOP THE STEAL button, cheerfully joining President Trump’s rally outside the White House on the morning of January 6, 2021.1 Busch, who lives in Redwood City, California, recently formed a study group on economic justice within the Thomas Merton Center, which is affiliated with the St. Thomas Aquinas Parish in Palo Alto.2 Like most of his fellow study group members, he calls himself a Francis Catholic, in deference to Pope Francis. You could also call him a Nuns on the Bus Catholic, after the progressive Catholic group, which he supports, that advocates for a range of social justice issues. He is as earnest in person as he is passionate in his emails. He usually has at the tip of his tongue or typewriter a citation from any number of writings in the long tradition of Catholic social teachings. He remains personally opposed to abortion but rejects its political use as a wedge issue. Robert Busch reached out to me online just as I was returning from the March for Life, an annual gathering of antiabortion activists and their supporters that takes place every year on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. While the march draws in a religiously diverse crowd, it is heavily Catholic and includes hundreds of busloads of kids from Catholic schools, for many of whom attendance is all but mandatory. But many other Catholics are morally opposed to the politicization of the abortion issue and are horrified by the takeover of the Supreme Court. Busch and members of his study group are among them. They were determined not just to go on record with their opposition but also to do something to get their message and their vision of Catholicism out. Robert Busch works as an administrator in a development office at Stanford University. Edna Jamati, one more of the dozen-odd members of the Thomas Merton study group, is a retired nurse. Another member, Vicky Sullivan, is a grandmother who attends mass several times a week. Shannon Griscom is a retired teacher. Their group represents a cross section of the Catholic laity in their community, says Busch, which is to say that they are mostly middle-class, if rather whiter, older, and more educated than the median resident...
Editorial note: After the following few lines, I have reached the publishers limit on use within copyright restrictions. I will henceforth depend upon my own writing skills to discuss this book. I hope you will continue with me...and if you'd like any clarifications on what I share, please feel free to leave questions as comments and I will try to clarify sufficiently for you to understand my thoughts and response to the content...
I wanted to leave these few lines because this excerpt is from Chapter 2 of the book. As I said earlier, I was shocked with what I was reading... this was the most shocking for me... I'll explain after the following short excerpt...
Just a few miles up the road, in the bucolic wine country of Napa, is one of the luxury hotels managed by a company whose founder and CEO is a man named Timothy Busch—no relation to Robert. Timothy Busch is also a Californian...
Some of us--maybe many of us--who are protestants have from time to time wondered why there are so many different churched under the umbrella of protestants... Through reading a variety of books, one of which is The Book of Thomas with commentary, which I'll talk about soon... is that I'm discovering what is really meant when Jesus spoke...
But, prior to this time period, other than the ongoing sexual issues that have long been hidden and then began to be addressed within the Catholic Church, I had never thought that the Catholic Church could be "splintered..." Until Project 2025 and Trump and the Funders Group behind dark money... It seems that, now, in that church there is a wide division between those who support Pope Francis' teachings...and all the rest, who are now in the majority... If you want to know more, I urge you to consider buying the book--this is just one shocking issue that I discovered. Very specifically, my reading of this book states that there is now a divide of leadership within the Catholic Church who have chosen wealth and power over the program activities of Pope Francis, who, as you may know, had a recent major hospital stay, but is now back... Thank God...
Issue 2 The Secretary of Education in the former Trump Administration is from an extremely wealthy family and their source of wealth, at least from a professional job standpoint, is running private schools... Here's Project 2025 plans...
Issue 3 This is actually a part, but in my opinion, a very important part of what is happening related to public education. MAGA churches, groups, formerly created "topical" groups are encouraging members to not only run for school boards, but to cause friction and dissent at the meetings by members or just by attending meetings. There are many videos available at YouTube showing specific issues, such as bullying, prejudice against minority students of all kinds, as well as working to change control of curriculum and books to other than professional teachers, librarians and more... Velshi on MSNBC has been covering the banned books issue from the start and is a good place to learn about specific books, sometimes banned purely on the complaint of one or two individuals??? A great example was given on how banning can occur. The writer was visiting a meeting where one woman talked about a book in her local school. She referred to The Diary of Anne Frank. Stewart was surprised and sat thinking when the woman went on to say, I like the book, but it was the homosexuality inclusion that I could not tolerate... Ok, I'm not going to explain the rest of that conversation. But if any of you know the story about the young Jewish girl who had to hide from the Germans during WWII, and you can't remember anything to do with homosexuality...there's a reason to call these people...FAR Right!
I decided to include just one video where a young girl died because of what was happening in schools!
You are correct that the above video is not necessarily related to this book and actions now underway to destroy public education. However, doesn't that make it even worse? Because, NOW, we have an organized announced movement toward DEI in all manner of issues... including creating schools that will not be available for those with low income.
Issue 4 - Quickly, I want to highlight a son of immigrants who finished university and, during the depression, went into business selling electronics. When personal computers started to surge in sales, there was a concurrent almost insatiable demand for power strips, ultimately resulting in his being able to sell his main company for $1.65 billion dollars. His personal political view was “basic libertarianism.” But then this man was, shall we say, identified as a potential funder, with a capital F... An "adviser" took him under his wing, and then the now multi-billionaire made a $1,6B contribution to a trust controlled by Leonard Leo, the right-wing moneyman best known for stacking the Supreme Court via the Federalist Society. That is, he's the coordinator of all groups related to imposing a Christian Nationalist and right-wing agenda into existence (now happening under the republican administration.
The remaining part of the Money chapters very specifically provides names of donors of dark money, sometimes the why they donate, and people like Leonard Leo and others who work to influence, coordinate, and create false disinformation by which manipulation of former libertarians might be seduced of large chunks of money to give to "good" causes... making a name for themselves and surely going down in history of the time as a group of Funders decided they wanted to destroy democracy, the order of law, any regulations that reduced profits, and people who would prevent them... from... making... more... money... and, of course, to gt more tax breaks for the wealthy!
I don't know what the next section, Lies, will involve, so I thought I'd give you the latest--and catastrophic--set of lies that has come out of the republican administration... Perhaps you've heard of "Signalgate?" Days go by and still people are talking, upset and filing law suits... while lies or alternative news items are pushed, trying to get past the most dangerous security breach that has occurred by a president...
That's Right! I was on Signal a few days... So, I was at least acquainted with the App when the world discovered that a standard everyday available App was used by the Trump Administration to discuss "War Plans..." Let me quickly share my own story... I had just posted my review on a site on Facebook under the author's name. (BTW, have you read why I'm not there now?!!) I've always done that for any book that I've read who is also on that site, and other sites I routinely post on...
When I received a message from her, it didn't surprise me. I often get feedback or thanks from writers. We talked a few times and, yes, it soon moved into the Carroll v. Trump case that had taken place in the same time period... She said something like, "I can tell you care, and I'd like to talk with you more. But I need to ensure it is more private. She asked me to download Signal--a platform with which I was not familiar. I admit that I was, at first, starstruck. I've become friends with other writers based upon that first review I had provided, so I did as she asked. I downloaded Signal. It was easy, but is supposedly encrypted, which merely means that the message is encrypted from one phone to another and vice versa.
We started to talk and she soon started telling me that she wanted my help in "spending her money..." That was the first point where I became suspicious... Without going into the entire story, let me just say, I started "playing" the person to whom I was talking. What was being said did not jive with my knowledge of the background of E. Jean. Why Me? was obviously a question I had in mind... Soon after interaction over a series of days, I was told by the writer that the individual was "not" E.Jean. "But, I just wanted to talk to you..." How did I catch him? We started talking about specific amounts of money. That individual mentioned $300,000. I responded that that seemed low given what she would soon have--right? Within minutes, I had cut off the conversation, deleted Signal from my computer... Yes, I had an idea who it might have been, but, then, I could be totally wrong. By then, Facebook had taken over Instagram and I'd been bothered by many messages from that site that wanted to get on Facebook, so they would make a comment on something I had posted and asked if I would connect with them... Apparently that was the only way that they could legitimately get on Facebook... Who Knows...? That type of technical problem had been going on for years on Facebook by that time... Yes, I had a bit of shame that I had at first gave in to "a celebrity," but, with me, I am always on guard. I've been scammed before by people who lied or used somebody else's name--writers--only to find a duplicate site had been made by a hacker... and I'd have to work to reconnect with the real writer!
~~~
LET'S DO THE ANALYSIS UPFRONT!!!--REPUBLICAN CONGRESSMEMBER'S STATEMENT ON SIGNAL CATASTROPHE
You Know, folks, there was never a time that President Biden was not upfront to give full details about any major event that caused actions overseas, or here in America. Remember Afghanistan? No president had actually acted to get us out of that country. Biden did, but then got major backlash about how it was done... Give me a break! At least he acted and worked through the fallout!
What you have watched is a series of just a few congressional discussions related to the misuse of a non-secured platform, Signal, that even I easily downloaded and talked to somebody who I really didn't know! The fact that "somebody" either on purpose placed a journalist's name on an established group chat, or by accident, just reveals the level of ease of hacking/misinformation use on normal cell phone programs. What America and all countries is having to deal with. That's why our government has its own communication equipment and processes. Why weren't they used? Not convenient enough? Lack of concern? or Just lack of...thinking and learning about your job and its ramifications.
These people now are lying, claiming that the fact that the chat was outside of the Administration policies really wasn't a big deal...while at the same time, republicans as well as democrats are stating clearly that this was a major breach of classified material... I have to, again, ask...can we really believe that anything that Trump/staff are doing will not result in major horrendous changes to our Nation?! I have to ask--How can you trust or believe a president who claims that he has no idea what was being talked about...? What happened to the old saying, "The buck stops at the top?" Trump has already implied that somebody other than Hegseth had accepted responsibility...Not the Secretary! Certainly not Trump! So, does that mean that the techie person will take total blame? Thoughts?
GABixlerReviews
TRUMP IS NOW WORKING TO CHANGE ELECTION REGULATIONS! TAKE ACTION!!! DON'T LET REPUBLICANS PREVENT US VOTING!!!
I may have gone a little overboard with the videos! LOL... yeah, I enjoy Tom Jones, even more as he's older, than I ever did even for Elvis... The power of Jones' voice is outstanding and his moves? Well, I'm sure you can/will make your own decision about them! I loved the short duet with Jones and Jennifer Hudson on The Voice... two powerful voices merging without effort, complementing each other in their greatness! Then I had to include Tom Jones and Pavarotti's to lead off the story... You can play all of the videos, none of the videos and just go for the story about the book... But, I did want to take the time and effort to recognize Sir Tom Jones in all of his Glory! As he said, he was given the voice...
“Delilah” performed by Tom Jones
Part of the fun of writing Delilah: A Ronnie Lake Cold Case was the research, including spending plenty of time online watching Tom Jones perform his many hits. Some of the earliest clips reminded me what a remarkable voice he has, and what an amazing performer he has been from the moment he appeared on the scene in the 1960s. These days, he’s a slightly different kind of amazing. Check out his fabulous 2012 video on YouTube where he sings Leonard Cohen’s, “Tower of Song.” The decades have added a wonderful darkness and dimension to what was already so perfect. Like the proverbial good wine, Tom Jones has aged well—just the way many of us are striving to do. --Nikki Danforth
I met Danforth in 2017 with her book Searching for Gatsby Haven't got to Stunner, yet... So many TBR books, so little time...
The bloodied corpses lay dumped on each other as if they’ve been sorted for the trash. Even with blindfolds covering their eyes, their frozen faces show an unspeakable terror. Two of the teenaged victims appear to have their hands tied behind their backs. The third must have worked out of the rope that’s still twisted around one wrist, her other rubbed raw from the binding. Her arms reach around the two girls as if she’s pulling them close. Were they already friends before this final embrace? I click through the next photographs, close-ups of the girls’ battered bodies. Their clothes are filthy and ragged, as if they’ve been held captive for some time. Other pictures on my laptop reveal the surroundings, possibly a warehouse somewhere in a rundown industrial area. The bleak, abandoned space is light years away from my cozy, safe cottage in Willowbrook, New Jersey, where I complete homework for my "Intro to Criminal Justice class. Warrior, my beloved German shepherd, stirs near my feet on the end of a comfy chaise in my bedroom. This has always been my first choice of where to hunker down with a great book, but at the moment it’s where I study these photos. Suddenly, not wanting to taint my refuge with this Russian mob-related case, I take off my drugstore glasses, sweep up the materials, and head downstairs to the kitchen. I continue reading about this tragic human trafficking case and contemplate whether I’m really cut out for this world of investigative work.
Unexpectedly, the wind picks up. Crack! I jump at the same moment the phone rings and grab it before it can ring again. “Hello? Who is it?” “Ronnie, it’s Will. Are you okay?” his calm voice asks. “You sound panicked.” “I’m fine, I’m fine. A huge noise outside startled me, like a gunshot, but it was probably just a limb that broke off.” I pour a glass of pinot noir. “What’s up?” “Do you want to assist me on a new case? I’m swamped—” “I’d love to, but is it more involved than the gofer work I did last time?” I take a drink. “Not that I don’t appreciate the opportunity—” “It’s a cold case in Parklawn, just west of Paterson. It’s not that far from you, and you’ll have a chance to help a lot in the field,” Will interjects. “We’ll find out more tomorrow when we talk to the client. Meet me at the diner at eight.” “You’re really going to put me in the field?” “With my close supervision,” Will says. “I don’t want to see a repetition of your—”
“See you there. Thanks!” I hang up. I grab my computer and run upstairs to turn in. The wind continues to howl outside, and I pull Warrior’s dog nest next to my bed before sliding under the covers. I look at the computer screen, determined to pick up where I left off with my assignment. Outside, the branches creak spookily. “Who are you trying to kid?” I turn off my laptop. “Enough of the Russian mob for one night.”
~~~~~
Ronnie, our main character, is over 50, living alone in the Carriage House on the family estate, which she is now renting out to a family with children--just like it had once been during her early years. She was quite happy to be able to now begin to enjoy the smaller space and not have those shadows following her through darkened areas where nobody ever entered... Yet, she has two children so didn't want to assume that one or both of them may be one day interested in returning...home...
It's difficult to decide what to do with the rest of your life when a major change has occurred. In an earlier book, she met Will and began considering a personal relationship, while also contemplating whether she was interested in working in his field--as a Private Investigator. She is now taking one course and while reading the grim details of a mock case, seeing what men have been doing to women for ages, and trying to decide whether she has the desire to go so deep into such horrendous acts of mankind, she has the chance to become involved on a new case. This one to include field work, since Will is tied up with another case...
Will is still not certain she can act on her own, and gets her to promise that she will let him know what she plans before she acts... Of course, when you go out in the field and find something out, you tend to go ahead and take that next step without seeking permission... On the other hand, Ronnie seems to have an intuitive and quick mind that, as she reviews all the case files for a Cold Case, in which a young woman had been murdered many years ago, she picks up key factors that she deems important and then starts building the normal "whatifs" that are explored as an investigation moves forward...
Checking out who and why the people at that time were interviewed, then deciding who to try to get in touch with--former boyfriends, girlfriends, officers in charge of the case... That is, if they are still alive. But first, they had to meet with the individual representing the family who were asking for their help. They were to meet with the deceased's cousin who had flown in from Pittsburgh. Doreen Lyla had been murdered in 1972:
“My aunt, Doreen Lyla, was murdered back in 1972, and they never got her killer. “So, why now?” Will asks. “It’s been more than forty years.” “My old man’s got cancer, and we don’t think he’ll make it.” “I’m sorry,” Will and I say almost in unison. “Pop’s dying wish is that his sister’s killer be brought to justice,” Steve says...
Will and Ronnie, after their client had left, continued to put together a plan of action, with agreement of what Ronnie would handle without first coming back to discuss with Will. And, she followed this guidance, at least as far as she felt she could handle without disturbing his busy schedule... And that's how she wound up in a local bar where the victim was known to visit... And, while she gathered pieces of memory from the owner, the crowd was getting noisier as the beginning of a nightly feature of the club was announced--Karaoke! Well, I've sung in public, but never spontaneously as would happen in a bar. And, it was obvious that this crowd included many active participants! All of a sudden a woman was singing loudly, and offkey, I will survive! And the crowd loved her... And, by the way, I've use the karaoke version so you can sing along! You're probably reading this alone, right, so what if you do sing offkey, nobody will hear you...
Ronnie spent the evening there, at least until the Karaoke stopped. (While the author was writing more, I added a few more songs just for the fun of it!) The owner had been younger in the 70s but still remembered everything that happened, and what he thought about it at the time. Once he learned that her brother wanted to know who had killed his sister before he died of cancer, he was all in... And after Ronnie left she spent time going through everything and arrived at who she thought might be guilty...
After talking to Will who said that the only way they could prove it, would be if he confessed... And Ronnie knew exactly how to make that happen... As long as Will was there as her backup! Even though I, too, had identified the guilty individual, I still was shocked at what happened at the confrontation! Perfect ending!
And, if you haven't tried to sing along, I'll share that I did! Especially Respect by Aretha Franklin and of course, Tom Jones' songs! Don't close this out until you've at least tried one! I admit I only did Ok with ones I really knew, like I Got You Babe! Ah Memories!
Didi planted her hands on her hips. “So it’s a peach operation that hides the suffragette operation.” “It sure looks that way.” “Hidden in Grandma Rose’s garden.” I had to hand it to Rose. “It would be the perfect cover for secret meetings.” “Nobody would think to look down here,” Didi said as the double doors overhead flew open on the ghostly side. A hook-nosed ghost above us let out a cry, dropping her basket of fruit. Didi zipped out of the way. I wasn’t as quick and caught a silvery peach to the shoulder. The icy wetness of the other side seared me. “Ow!” I cried as it plowed straight through me and rolled across the cave floor. The hook-nosed woman appeared directly between us. She wore men’s work gloves and an apron smeared with dirt. “What are you doing in my storage room?” “Madge let us in,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. “We’re looking for the lock that fits this key.” She studied the key I held up. “You won’t find it here,” she said grimly. “Then do you know where?” Didi pressed. Her lips thinned. “That’s not for me to say.” “They’re with Rose,” Madge said, shimmering into existence next to me. “I’ve been keeping an eye on them.”
The ghost looked us up and down. “They’re not even wearing corsets.” “It’s a new day,” Didi told her. She frowned at that. “I say we leave this up to Liberty Brown. If she wants these ladies involved, she’ll tell them what to do.” “Liberty Brown?” I’d never heard of her. “She’ll be at the meeting,” Madge said. “You can wait with me.” “When does the meeting start?” Didi asked as Madge led us out of the storage cellar. “Ladies will be showing up any minute,” she assured us. “In fact, I hesitated to leave the meeting room, well, until you startled Viv.” “I think we all did our fair share of startling,” I said. “So what’s with all the peaches?” Didi asked. “I can understand meeting down here, but actually helping with the harvest?” “It’s…complicated,” Madge said, holding the curtain for us. “But you might as well help me peel a few while we wait for the meeting to start.”
I fought off a cringe. “That might be difficult.” Objects on the ghostly plane felt like ice against my skin and fire in my veins. And anything I touched would vanish within minutes. But if we played our cards right, we could try to learn more from Madge. Didi seemed to be thinking the same thing. She commandeered an apron. I skipped that part and dredged up a rickety stool from the corner. It slanted sideways and looked like it’d crumble in a mild breeze, but it was the only seat I could find that wasn’t glowing gray. My rule when it came to the ghostly plane was definitely more of a look, don’t touch approach. The table appeared real enough despite the ghostly sheen. The peaches were on an entirely different plane. “Ready?” Madge said, placing a shimmering silver knife down onto the table next to me. “Sure,” I ventured. Oh, who was I kidding? I was never ready for this. The ghostly knife would be freezing cold. It would make my teeth chatter and my hand go numb. And if I dared touch it, we could kiss it goodbye. Same with the peaches. The basket. And while nuking all the unpeeled peaches would no doubt speed things along, I’d rather stay under the radar. Learn what we could. I made a show of flexing my fingers. Didi grabbed a knife and a peach. “So, seriously, why are we peeling fruit for the vote instead of marching or making ourselves heard?” She was right. I could think of a dozen more effective ways to be heard and inspire change. Madge wiped her hands on her apron before grabbing her knife. “Bake sales are important fundraisers.” Oh, come on. “You have to give us more than that.” “That’s it,” Madge said, not fooling anybody. “We’re in an underground cave,” I pointed out. “This isn’t a baking party. What are you really working on down here?” Madge stiffened. “We’ve been ordered to keep the fundraising going.” “With peaches?” Didi asked, slicing into her first one. “It’s no secret the movement is in danger.” And it was clear they weren’t telling us everything. She eyed me. “Keep at it, and Viv is going to kick you out.” “Let’s not get hasty,” I said as Didi placed a half-peeled peach in front of me. I could pretend it was mine. Madge dug into a peach with her knife. “Let’s be honest. I know everyone in Sugarland, and I don’t know you.” How strange to be on the other end of that one.
“You should, right?” I agreed. “I mean, if you don’t go back five generations, are you really from Sugarland?” “I’d say the true test is whether you’ve put a raft down on Devil’s Bend,” Didi said. “Or gone to Roan’s for a hammer.” I nodded. They’d been in business since 1843. “Or stared up at Rockhill Mansion and wondered what the heck goes on up there,” Madge added. “It’s haunted, that’s what,” I told her. I’d solved the case. “I knew it!” Madge gushed. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times.” She shook her head. “This is fun. I missed chatting. And working together,” she added, eyeing my knife on the table. “Do you really have to worry about spies?” Didi asked, while I wondered if I was brave enough to reach for the knife. At Madge’s raised brow, I did, gritting my teeth as I felt the bracing chill. I stabbed into the skin of the peach without picking it up. “Didi has a point,” I said to our host. “We’re women.” I ignored the goosebumps erupting on my arms. “Why wouldn’t we want the vote?” Madge cocked her head as she ran a knife around the peach, skinning it with swift strokes. “You have no idea the lengths some women will go to in order to give up their power.” She eyed me. “They leave chicken feet on my husband’s desk at work and call him henpecked.” She returned her attention to the peach. “They say he’s not a man because he stays home with the baby while I volunteer.” “My man takes care of my little Lucy while I work,” I said, flicking the peel and stabbing the peach before tossing it into the metal bowl. “Why shouldn’t your partner take care of his family? It’s what good men do.” Madge placed her peeled peach next to mine. “He has been quite wonderful. I’m lucky.”
“You are,” Didi said. “My husband pretended he didn’t know how to work the washing machine. For fifty years.” Madge barked out a laugh. “Mine can take apart a carburetor but needs me to make his toast.” She pursed her lips. “Although I do cut it into hearts for him. He likes that.” “You’re lucky,” I said, making note to try the heart toast with Ellis. “Mine can’t cook to save his life. The bacon is either raw or burned to a crisp, but he keeps trying.” “Pretend you like it, and he’ll get better,” she said, placing another peach in front of me. “That’s been my plan now that my husband has been fixing dinner every night for the kids. He saves a plate for me.” She brought a hand to her head. “I’ve been gone so much.” “Doing important work,” I assured her. “It may not look like it, but it is,” she assured us. She flicked her knife toward the peach she’d laid out for me. “I already did one,” I said, looking to the metal bowl. The entire bowl had begun to fade. Oh no. It was disappearing! Fast. I hadn’t touched it. But I had touched my peach, which I’d tossed in with the other peaches, which set off a chain reaction of disaster.
“What the—” Madge stood, her chair falling backward as the entire bowl evaporated. Oh my goodness. I stood quickly. “I’m so sorry.” She shrieked, pointing as my knife began to disappear from the table. “I’m sorry about that, too,” I cried. Viv dashed into the room. “What’s the matter?”
“They’re—” Madge pointed at me. “I—” “I’m alive.” There. I’d said it. “I messed up the peaches because I’m alive.” Viv rested a hand on her hip. “Of course you’re alive. Everyone is alive. And peaches don’t disappear.” “I saw them,” Madge said breathlessly, staring at the table. Didi placed her knife down and rose from the table. “What year do you think this is?” Viv rolled her eyes. “It’s 1919, of course.” They didn’t know they were dead. Or that I was alive. “And when is the meeting supposed to start?” I asked Madge. “Tell me. What date? What time?” She looked at me funny. “June 20th. Two o’clock.” “1919,” Didi finished. That poor woman really had been peeling peaches for a century. “I don’t think we can wait around anymore.” Liberty Brown wasn’t coming. Nobody was. These poor ghosts didn’t realize their time was long past. And if they hadn’t noticed by now, I wasn’t sure how to convince them. “Is Liberty the only person who can help us?” “The only one who’ll be at the meeting,” Madge maintained. “Rose and Hope were the only ones trusted with keys,” Viv said from the door. “Where is Hope?” Maybe we could track her down.
“Hope died last week.” Madge’s voice broke. “She died in jail.” “How awful,” I said, rubbing my hands on my dress. They were still tingling. “They locked her up for disturbing the peace,” Viv said. “In truth, it was to scare us. To keep us from organizing.” “Or asking questions,” Madge added. “About what?” I asked. They both clammed up. Viv’s hands formed into fists. “Now Rose is locked in the same jail. I feel so awful for her. No one is allowed in, and she’s in the same cell where Hope died.” The musty air clung to my skin, and I could hear water dripping somewhere in the distance.
I stood as primly as I could, fingering Grandma Rose’s filigree necklace. “I’m dating a police officer. I might be able to help.” Viv gritted her jaw. “We can’t trust the police.” Not again. Not in Sugarland. “Why would you say that?” Madge drew a hand to the button brooch at her throat. “Eleanor Blackwell has vanished. She’s slated to speak at the rally tomorrow. It’s crucial to our cause.” Didi crossed her arms. “When did she disappear?” “Two days ago,” Viv said. “She left the Sugarland Hotel after dinner. We thought she was coming straight here to the house, but she disappeared on the way. Several of our members went to the police, but they’ve done nothing.” “At least that’s kept it out of the papers,” Madge added. “If we have to cancel the rally, we’ll lose a lot of support.” For now. But I could offer some comfort. “The good news is I do believe it will all turn out in the end.” Viv scoffed. Madge’s cheeks flushed gray. “How can you say that?” she demanded. “Our vice president died in her jail cell. Our speaker has been kidnapped. Our president has been arrested. Our lawyer is trying to get her out, but she’s on a hunger strike. She could die in there, just like Hope.” “Grandma Rose will make it,” Didi murmured to me. “But at what cost?” From the way she’d treated Didi in the afterlife, it was safe to say Rose had been through a lot. Didi nodded. “Grandma Rose is alone in the world. Her husband, Grandpa Jack, died in 1915.” “We already lost Hope. If we lose Rose and Eleanor both, we’ll have no shot at the grand plan,” Viv added. “We’ll never stop, but that doesn’t mean we’ll succeed.” “Or live.”
Madge wiped her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I’d had no idea. And they might be more right than they knew, seeing as they were still trapped down here a century later. Didi had the same idea. “Hang tight and stay where you are. We’ll see what we can find out.” Would we? “If Rose is in jail, we can talk to her about the key,” Didi said. She was right. Even if Rose had moved on, Hope might still be haunting the place where she died. She’d be able to tell us about the key as well. Viv brought a hand to her head. “Rose is the one we trusted to keep the key safe.” “It’s safe,” I insisted. And soon we’d secure Rose’s legacy as well. “Which jail is she in?” The ghosts shared a meaningful look before Viv answered, “Occoquan Workhouse.” I nodded, committing the name to memory. I turned to leave, pausing at the curtain. “Stay here. Have your meeting. We’ll be back with news,” I promised, my voice barely audible as I ascended into the world above.
~~~
I've been a fan for Angie for many years (do a search in the right column to check out all the other books I've talked about!) but, Secrets, Lies, and Fireflies is, not only a personal favorite for 2025, but, in my opinion, is the best book she's written--so far! Let's face it, with all that politics is causing in America, we have all begun to question just how soon women will be next on the chopping block... After all the president has been indicted for sexual abuse of E. Jean Carroll...
DEI actions are so diverse in implementation that you cannot keep up...people are being fired, then have to file legal actions!!! Chaos from one man who has already shown he cares nothing about women (E. Jean is not the only individual who has attempted to sue the president), Social Security, and Medicaid...
I could have continued to illustrate what is presently happening, but I hope all of you already know of the catastrophic mess that Trump and MAGA is forcing on America citizens... Still, it needed to be illustrated because many people have gone through this type of discriminatory action before! This book takes us back to the historical story of what was happening as women were fighting to gain the right to vote--and if we don't stop this madness, that could be next by this misogynist... and white supremacist...
“Where is she?” He blazed toward the house. “Is she in there? She can’t hide from me.” At this rate, she might want to. I was no expert, but I had to assume hell hath no fury like a gangster in penny loafers.
Fox takes readers on a very different direction in her latest, which had to be planned for Women's History Month! Kudos Angie! We still have our regular gangster ghost, Frankie, who is stuck on earth when his ashes was accidentally spilt... This time, it is the family who is spotlighted in both good and bad ways... You see, other than the main character and her sister, all the rest of the family are dead or ghosts...
It all began when a fire is started in the Sugarland Library! Where Melody was working! Verity, our main character, was already hurrying toward the library when she heard somebody shouting her name... Yes, she realized that it was indeed her grandmother, Didi, who was calling her. We learn later that she saw Verity talking with Frankie, a ghost, so she realized that Verity might be able to hear her. She had been sent to be with Melody as she died...but when she saw there might be a chance to help her, all plans were changed! Soon Verity was leaping past everybody and on her way to find her grandmother, who then showed her where Melody was...
Melody was standing, staring into space. A child was still lost and Melody wouldn't leave until she found her... So all three women began searching and ultimately found and saved the little girl, as well as Melody... But a strange thing happened on their way out, Didi saw a white scarf, went and grabbed it and gave it to Verity. At that time, Verity thought Didi wanted her to cover her mouth from the smoke...
What evolved from that was the finding of a key within that scarf which started a search for a lock it would fit!
By the way, before we go any further, you should be aware that Lucy had won an award at the Annual Pet Parade and Festival. Lucy, by the way, is a delightful character who happens to be a skunk and who is also very protective of her loved ones and actually catches the criminal--with her back feet... You really have to read it to understand...LOL
Once the fire was under control, Didi returned to her home... Yes, she had left her home to Verity who had shown she loved it as much as Didi did... But, immediately the fun starts because Didi immediately created her vision of that house as she lived there... Which Verify loved and hoped she could stay... At the same time, Frankie felt it was his home now and wasn't happy with what she represented. You see, when Didi returned into her former home, she became the dominant ghost. Soon Frankie's home had been returned to a garden shed! Then Didi, thinking about her late husband, began to dress Frankie in a sweater, with a pipe... Well, hopefully you all who have been reading Fox for years know what Frankie thinks about himself...He...was...dominant! LOL Just like all men think so, right?
Which leads us to the main thrust of the mystery... During the Women's Suffrage movement, Sugarland had also become involved. However, it was not well received by the town's men. So women, at first, started meeting secretly. Rose, one of Verity's ancestors had been a major part of those activities. Unfortunately, all of the records had been entrusted to Didi, who knew nothing about Suffrage activities and after skimming the mountains of papers, had boxed it up and donated it... to... the... library! And, by the way, during the fire, a skeleton was found hidden in a wall there...
I laughed often, but I teared up as well... Learning what was happening to women, how they were treated but so dedicated that, even after death, when they didn't know they'd died a century before, continued to work to make money to support those speakers who were traveling across the nation working to ensure women would be given the right to vote!
Must we continue to have similar types of situations over and over and over as men strive to override those votes that result in something different than candidates want! I'll never forget how a mother and daughter had lies made about them by the president and his lawyer! We must continue to fight to CONFIRM that ALL PEOPLE ARE CREATED EQUALLY as the Constitution guarantees... Then, why oh why must we repeat each step forward, while men want to go backward to the time when white men were the only ones allowed to participate in determining the type of government under which we live?!
And, why, Lord, do people continue to forget the only real things we needed to do for Him: Love and Speak Truth??? I thought Fox did an excellent job in the creation of the villain in this case... So very perfect an example of how some children are raised, taught, or simply, feel entitled to lie, cheat, and even murder if needed to get what was required for the life chosen... Angie, I hope you'll continue to take diversions into family life from time to time! Best book yet!
They shake Frank’s hand. He seems befuddled, surrounded by all this power. “Sofia’s father.” I mouth the words to Harry and Gwyn. “Oh.” Riggins draws back a step and puts on a more sober expression. Jolting music, blasting horns, and a bass drum makes us all jump. Somewhere there’s a sound system. Powerful speakers under the eaves of the house blast down on us. Aaron Copland, “Fanfare for the Common Man.” It’s a nice tune, but not at this volume, and certainly not something Sofia would have picked. I look over and one of her roommates, Tess, I believe, is telling someone inside the house to turn it down. A few seconds later the ear-shattering noise quells to background music. We can hear ourselves again. Copland on the quiet. Tess must know the owner of the house. Maybe it’s her family...
I turn to the computer, punch up Google, and type in “45th Infantry Division.” In seconds the site list pops up. There’re a bunch of sites. I open one of them. It spills across the screen, a map of Western Europe with text underneath in big letters. “The 45th Infantry Division drove on Munich in the closing days of the war and, in the process, it liberated the Nazi concentration camp at Dachau. The division crossed the Danube River on 27 April, 1945, and liberated 32,000 captives of Dachau on 29 April. The division captured Munich during the next two days, occupying the city until V-E Day and the surrender of Germany. During the next month, the division remained in Munich and set up collection points and camps for the massive numbers of surrendering troops of the German armies. The number of POWs taken by the 45th Infantry Division during its almost two years of fighting totaled 124,840 men.” “Dachau concentration camp,” says Harry. “I see it.” “You think Brauer was there?” “I don’t know.” “We could ask Emma.” “She says she doesn’t know anything. According to her, her dad never talked about the war. All she knows is little bits and pieces from letters he’d written to army buddies and a few telephone conversations she overheard. Whenever she asked him about the war, the men he served with, he’d go silent. Didn’t want to talk about it. She assumed it brought up bad memories, so she never pressed him.” “It is possible the swastika on the wall is something Brauer captured, like the pistol. Maybe they go together,” says Harry. “Herman looked at the Luger and said he thought it was authentic.” I punch up another site, wait a couple of seconds, and sit there staring at it. “I’ll be damned.” “What is it?” says Harry. “The unit emblem for the 45th Infantry Division of the United States Army.” “What was it?” “Come take a look,” I tell him. Harry steps around the desk so he can look over my shoulder. It’s an item from the 45th Infantry Division Museum, their online site, an organization dedicated to the history of the unit. I know from other readings that the symbol in question has a history dating back thousands of years. It is formed by an equilateral cross, the outward legs of which are bent at a ninety-degree angle. It has been used by various cultures and religions from time immemorial, including Hindus, Buddhists, and followers of Jainism. In ancient Sanskrit it was known by the word svastika. We know it as the swastika. According to the article from the 45th Infantry Division Museum, the unit wore the swastika on their divisional arm patch for a period dating from around 1920 until 1933. To the unit it was an ancient American Indian icon, a symbol of good luck. The 45th was headquartered in Oklahoma City and trained at Fort Bliss. It was made up of recruits mostly from Oklahoma, New Mexico, Colorado, and Arizona. This was Indian country for many of the western tribes, so according to the article the symbol made sense. From reading we find out that the problem arose when the swastika became known worldwide as the symbol of Hitler’s Nazi Party in Germany. Apparently the 45th abandoned the swastika in 1933. They wore no arm patch insignia until 1939. After much thought and a contest to come up with a new insignia, the army settled on another American Indian motif. It was gold and red, the same colors as the old patch, but this time it was the Thunderbird—the symbol of the “sacred bearer of happiness unlimited.” They marched with it on their shoulders through World War II and the Korean War. The 45th Infantry Division was deactivated in 1968 and rolled into the 45th Infantry Brigade along with its battle flags, storied history, and Thunderbird shoulder insignia. “That proves what they say,” says Harry. “What’s that?” “There’s nothing stranger than history. Could have knocked me over with a thunderbird feather. We can forget the theory that Brauer was a Nazi.” “Looks like it.” “Where did they end up?” says Harry. “Who?” “The 45th, at the end of the war?” I look through some of the materials online. “Looks like Munich. Why?” “Munich was a hotbed,” says Harry. “It’s where Hitler got his start. The Beer Hall Putsch, remember? Early twenties.” “That was before my time,” I say, and start to smile. “I know it’s fashionable to be ignorant with regards to history,” he says, “but the Millennials will end up reliving it if they aren’t careful. Our own American version of Hitler. Country’s in trouble, in case you haven’t noticed. And most people haven’t a clue as to current events. They know even less about history.” He’s getting wound up. I can tell. Harry’s lecture series, new season, episode one. “If a nuclear war happened before four o’clock yesterday, they don’t know about it. If another one is scheduled for tomorrow, the only question they’ll ask is whether they can catch it on YouTube. The definition of being cool. The younger generation is ignorant,” he says. “You tell my daughter that, tell Sarah that the next time she’s down, and I’ll take odds she hits you with a book.” “You can bet it won’t be a history book,” says Harry. I start to laugh. “It’s not funny,” he says. “The world’s coming apart and the kids are gonna inherit it.” “You did pretty well last year. Have you checked your portfolio balance lately?” “I’m not talking about money,” says Harry. “Forget the money. Do you realize you’d have to dig up at least three generations of elementary school teachers in any major city in this country before you find one who knows what World War Two was and when it happened? I’m not kidding. Stop anybody on the street under eighty and ask them who Stalin was, and they’ll tell you it’s a rock group. We’re gonna wake up someday and find his clone sitting with his feet on the desk in the Oval Office,” he says. I need to buy Harry a bullhorn and sandwich board so he can go out on the street and scream at the kids. See if all those noise-canceling headphones really work. “They can either learn it or relive it,” he says. “Well, I suppose every so often the world needs a refresher course,” I tell him. “That’s not funny,” says Harry. “That’s not funny at all. That’s learning the hard way.” “Yeah, well, maybe it’s a lesson they won’t forget,” I tell him. I have my back to him looking at the screen. “Can you find that little box with the key? It’s on the desk there somewhere.” “What, this?” I turn. “Yeah. There’s another piece of paper folded up inside. Take it out and take a look.” He does it. It’s the brown wrapper. “Do you see a return address on it?” “Yeah, there’s a small sticker.” “What does it say?” “Law Offices of Elliott Fish. There’s a P.O. box, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, and a zip.” “It was sent from a law office?” “Looks like it,” says Harry. Harry gives me the name again and I punch it into the computer. Sure enough, I find a website with a phone number. I pick up the phone and dial. A receptionist answers: “Elliott Fish Law Offices, can I help you?” “Is Mr. Fish in, by any chance?” “Who may I say is calling?” “Attorney Paul Madriani, from Coronado, California.” “Just a moment please.” I get an earful of elevator music. A few seconds later a male voice comes on the line. “This is Elliott Fish. Who am I speaking to?” “Mr. Fish, this is Paul Madriani. I’m a lawyer out in California.” “Yes, what can I do for you?” “I have a client whose father received a small package from your office. His name was Robert Brauer. Can I ask who you represent and why you sent it to him?” “Do you represent Mr. Brauer?” “No. No, I’m afraid Mr. Brauer is dead.” “Oh, I see. Do you represent his estate?” “I represent his daughter, Emma Brauer.” “May I ask when Mr. Brauer died?” “About six weeks ago.” “And may I ask how you know about the package?” “It’s sitting here on my desk right now.” “I see. Then you should be able to tell me the contents of the package.” “A key. Looks like a safe-deposit key. And some kind of an ID, very old. In German, the name Jakob Grimminger.” “Yes.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” “Am I correct in assuming that you sent the package to Mr. Brauer?” “I did.” “Was it on behalf of a client?” “It was.” “May I ask who the client was?” “That I can’t tell you.” “May I ask why?” “It’s confidential lawyer-client information,” he says. “Well, let me explain. Mr. Brauer’s daughter, Emma Brauer, is my client. She has her own set of problems at the moment.” “Yes?” “Well, she’s charged with homicide. Mr. Brauer, who was quite ill before he died, was in a VA hospital out here, and it seems the authorities have reason to believe that he may not have died of natural causes. They seem to believe that my client may have put him out of his misery in a mercy killing.” “I see.” “At the moment it’s a single charge of voluntary manslaughter, but I’m concerned that if I can’t determine what’s happening here it could become more serious.” “What makes you think that the package has anything to do with your client’s case?” “Before Mr. Brauer died, his home was burglarized. Whoever broke in was looking for something. Mr. Brauer told his daughter that he was fearful both for himself and for her, and told her to place the package in a bank vault for safekeeping.” There is a lot of heavy breathing on the other end of the line. “Last week an employee of my office, a young woman, went to Brauer’s house on an errand for the office. Ms. Brauer was not there because she was in jail. That employee was found murdered Monday morning. We have reason to believe that she was killed at the house and that her body was deposited at another location.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “But if, as you say, Ms. Brauer placed the package in a bank vault and it wasn’t in the house, how can you be sure that it’s in any way connected to the death of your employee?” “The placement of the package in the bank was a private matter known only to Mr. Brauer and his daughter.” “I see. This does complicate things,” says the lawyer. “I’m not certain whether I can disclose the identity of my clients.” The way he says it makes it clear that there is more than one. “When did you say Mr. Brauer died?” he asks. “About six weeks ago.” “Do you have a death certificate?’ “I can get one.” “You might send me a certified copy,” he says. “He would have been the last.” “Last what?” “I’m sorry, I can’t say. But I should advise you that there may be other claimants.” “Claimants to what?” “I can’t say. But you should be aware that since you hold the box and its contents you may be on the receiving end of one or more lawsuits.” “For what? By who?” “By persons with a valid legal claim to the item in question.” “What’s the item?” “To tell you the truth, I don’t know the answer to that myself. I’m simply carrying out the instructions of my clients.” “Can you tell me when you were hired?” “The specific date? I’d have to look, but it was several years ago.” “Can I ask you—and you don’t have to answer if you can’t, but I’m really up against the wall here. I’m assuming that whatever’s going on here has to do with Mr. Brauer’s former military service with the 45th Infantry Division in Europe during the Second World War.” Nothing but breathing and silence from the other end. “Hello?” “I’m here,” he says. “There is one peculiar thing.” “What’s that?” “You did say that the police believe that Mr. Brauer may not have died of natural causes, is that correct?” “That’s right.” “It’s a strange coincidence.” “Yes, what’s that?” “There’s another individual out here in Oklahoma City who says his father died under similar circumstances. He was in a nursing home. And according to what I’ve heard, there is at least one person who doesn’t believe he died of natural causes. He’s requested an investigation by authorities, but so far they have no evidence to establish foul play.” “Am I to assume that this other individual, the man who died, is somehow connected with Mr. Brauer?” There is no reply from the other end of the line, but I can still hear him breathing. In this case I construe silence as assent. “Was he by any chance a member of the 45th Infantry Division?” More silence. “You put me in a very difficult position,” he says. “You don’t have to answer. My client told me that the package came from one of her father’s military buddies. That’s what he told her before he died. The wrapper has your return address on it. So I have to assume that the group you represent consists of Mr. Brauer’s former military associates. I would further assume then that whoever is raising questions about the man’s death, the gentleman back there in Oklahoma City, must be a relative or a friend of one of these men?” More silence. “Let me ask you, do you have an attorney-client relationship with the individual who is complaining about the death of this gentleman?” The lawyer finally exhales and says, “As a matter of fact, I don’t.” He seems almost relieved to give up the information. “Do you have something to write with?” “I do.” “His name is Anthony Pack.” He gives me the man’s phone number and address. “I think if you contact him, he may be able to help you.” “Thank you very much.” I hang up.
~~~
I find I'm watching more of the legal shows on television these days. And, when I saw this book by Steve Martini I decided to read it...Would you believe I hadn't read any of his books since 20 years ago! And, frankly, I was shocked by that post. LOL I hope my presentations have improved greatly since that time... In any event, I was immediately hooked into this storyline, especially when Paul Madriani, the main character, had learned that his young legal assistant who had volunteered to pick up the dog of his client who had been put in jail, was dead! Readers read what had actually happened to her, but then her body was later found in an entirely different area, moved after she'd been murdered... It's these little switches that pulled me further into the mystery because this one won't be the last, I warn you. Even being on the alert will not help, at least it didn't for me...
On one hand, I was very unhappy that she was murdered so early in the book. On the other hand, Madriani, and his wife, were so upset, that it pushed them both to work to discover what had happened... And, you will find that all of the people working in this legal firm are top-notch and characters who "care" about solving the case--the kind of legal firm you'd wish to find if you need one... Indeed, determining the actual plot was practically impossible... Then it hit me, when I began to stumble and go back and rethink a scene, I realized one thing. Somebody was lying... And we have all learned just how much disinformation, even from a individual you think you should be able to trust, is later determined to be lying... Often... Relentlessly... And, seemingly, with no reason... I finally caught on but it was only by reviewing that one scene where I knew it had to be "created" as a "gotcha" by the author...
I have learned over the last decade that not knowing history has been a downfall, or, maybe, a blessing in a way, for me. In school I was working, choosing classes that I would need to immediately get a job and start working right after graduation. At that time, I had already decided I wanted to help another individual by becoming a secretary. I succeeded and by July, 1963, I was working in the Office of Personnel at West Virginia University. Thereafter, all of my reading and training was based upon advancement... By the time I had retired nearly 40 years later, and moved on into publishing, book reviewing, and ultimately by 2016, I began to learn that, through fiction, I had learned much more about history than I ever had from a public school education. That is not saying it negatively, but rather, realizing that within 12 years, there was no way that routine and basic education classes could possibly have prepared me for what I was discovering of what had taken place in America! Continuing education, which I had done all of my life, is normally pointed at a goal; only reading can provide a way to ensure you learn a sufficient amount of information to prepare you for living in a country as diverse as can be found across the world...
Thus, I did not have the background upon which to evaluate the Blood Flag historical facts that were shared in the book, nor will most readers. So, here's the basic story. Three men were together in a group during WWII and fighting against Hitler's plan to take over the world, kill all Jews...and more... We learn enough to understand how and what the Blood Flag was and where it was first "created..."
These three men had returned home, returned to life and family, until suddenly, we learn, all three men were sent the same package. Some family knew of that package--the client of Paul Madriani--who has been accused of a mercy killing of her father... The normal investigation of the law firm begins and readers will learn of the connection of this package and the fear of each of the individuals who received them. All are dead now, with the last being Madriani's client's father...
Folks, at first I thought it was going to be a "treasure hunt" book where we will have to hunt clues to find what it is the key(s) opens... But, soon, it turned to be a murder mystery where it became clear that the deaths of all three soldiers had succeeded in happening... Your job, is to enjoy the book, to try to follow carefully all that happens, and to discover before the end of the book whodunit! I was close, but never quite sure... Dare you work to solve an 80-year-old mystery that started during WWII? I highly recommend you do!
“We’ve already issued a Missing Persons bulletin to the media,” the chief said. “I asked the state to do a Silver Alert, but—” “Anybody can get a Silver Alert, even on the mainland,” Fay Alex sniffed. “Isn’t there a premium version for people like us? A Platinum Alert, something like that?” “Silver is the highest priority, Mrs. Riptoad. However, it’s only for seniors who go missing in vehicles.” Crosby had learned the hard way never to use the term “elderly” when speaking with the Palm Beach citizenry. “Since Mrs. Fitzsimmons wasn’t driving the other night, the best they can do is a Missing Persons bulletin.” Fay Alex said, “You didn’t give out her real age to the media, did you? There’s no call for that. And which picture of her did you post?” “We’re required to list the age provided by her family. One of her sons sent us a photo from a family gathering on Christmas Day.” “A morning picture? Oh, dear God.” Fay Alex groaned; noon was the absolute earliest that Kiki Pew allowed herself to be seen by civilians. When the police chief inquired if Mrs. Fitzsimmons was known to use psychoactive drugs, Fay Alex threatened to have him sacked. “How can you even ask such a vicious question?” she cried. “A pill was found among your friend’s belongings, next to the fish pond. Actually, part of a pill. Our expert says it was bitten in half.”
Mauricio looked as if he’d rather be in the front row at a German opera. He told Angie that one of his mowing crew had spotted the giant snake in the tree that afternoon. “It hasn’t moved an inch since then,” he said. “We’re hoping the damn thing is dead,” Teabull added anxiously. “Oh, it’s the opposite of dead,” Angie informed him. “It’s digesting.”
The trunk of the ancient banyan presented a dense maze of vertical roots. Angie wasn’t wearing the right shoes for such a slippery climb. “I’ll need an extension ladder,” she told Mauricio, “and a pistol.” From Teabull: “Absolutely no gunfire at this event!” “Well, we’re looking at about eighteen feet of violent non-cooperation,” Angie explained. “The recommended approach is a bullet in the brain.” “Hell, no! You’ll have to do it another way.” “Then you will have to find another wrangler.” The band had started playing—Cuban music, a well-meaning tribute to the Buena Vista Social Club. Soon the guests would be twirling drunkenly all over the grounds. Teabull wore the face of a climber trapped on a melting ledge. “Five thousand cash,” he whispered to Angie. “But we’re running out of time.” Angie put a hand on Mauricio’s shoulder and said, “Sir, would you happen to have a machete?”
— The Burmese python is one of the world’s largest constrictors, reaching documented lengths of more than twenty feet. Popular among amateur collectors, the snakes were imported to the United States legally from Southeast Asia for decades. But because a hungry baby python can grow into an eight-foot eating machine within a year, owners often found themselves having second thoughts. Consequently, scores of the pet snakes were set free. Only in southern Florida did the species take hold, the hot climate and abundance of prey being ideal for python reproduction. A relatively isolated population exploded to a full-blown invasion during the early 1990s, after Hurricane Andrew destroyed a reptile breeding facility on the edge of the Everglades. The storm liberated fresh, fertile multitudes, and today the Burmese is one of the state’s most prolific and disruptive invasive species. An adult female can lay as many as ninety eggs, which she will encircle and guard from predators. Like all constrictors, pythons encoil their prey, squeezing the breath out of it. By disengaging their jaws, the snakes are able to swallow animals of much larger girth, which are typically consumed head-first. In this way the furtive intruders have decimated native Everglades wildlife, including marsh rabbits, raccoons, otters, opossums, and full-grown deer. Adult Burmese pythons will even drown and devour alligators. To the chagrin of suburban Floridians, pythons will leave the wetlands to travel long distances. Frequently they are discovered prowling residential neighborhoods, the signal clue being a sharp dip in the cat population. To stem the onslaught, authorities have recruited both lay hunters and experienced reptile handlers by offering hourly wages and bounty payments that escalate per foot of snake. While the frenetic capture videos are wildly popular on YouTube, the removal program has so far proven to be biologically inconsequential. Although hundreds of pythons have been caught and removed, biologists believe that many thousands more are still on the loose, mating insatiably. Despite their startling size, individual specimens aren’t easy to find. Their skin is lightly hued, with chocolate-brown patches creating puzzle-board patterns similar to that of a giraffe. Even the beefiest of pythons can be astonishingly well camouflaged in the wild, and experts cite their “low detectability” as a primary challenge for hunters.
“Where the hell did it come from?” Tripp Teabull grumbled about the one in the tree. “And why did it show up here, of all places?” “Sir, you’ve got a pond full of slow, dumb fish. However, that”—Angie cocked her trigger finger at the exceptional lump in the python—“is something else.” Mauricio and a co-worker arrived with a ladder that unfolded to twenty feet. With Angie’s assistance they notched one end into a cabled tangle of banyan branches directly beneath the quarry, which remained motionless. “You think there’s more of those fuckers around here?” Mauricio asked. Angie said this was the first one she’d ever heard of on the island. “What do you suppose she ate?” The groundskeeper exchanged a tense glance with Teabull. “How do you know it’s a she?” he asked Angie. “The biggest ones always are.” “Then maybe she didn’t eat anything,” Teabull cut in. “Maybe she’s just pregnant.” Angie chuckled. “Sir, that’s not a baby bump.”
Scientists in the Everglades have implanted transmitters in captured pythons and released them to help locate “breeding aggregations,” groups of randy males that communally cavort with a lone large female. That telemetry tracking has led to the interruption of many amorous assemblies, but so far, it has failed to stop the epochal march of the species. Although many pythons were found dead one winter after a rare hard freeze, the hardy survivors rebounded and—thanks to natural selection—produced new generations able to withstand colder temperatures. Nonetheless, Palm Beach County, which on some January nights experiences temperatures in the thirties, was believed to be safely north of the invaders’ comfort zone.
“We should fill in that damn koi pond,” Teabull said, “if that’s the big attraction.” Angie asked him if any domestic animals were allowed to roam the grounds of Lipid House. Teabull said absolutely not. Mauricio spoke up. “We got a few iguanas. Everybody’s got iguanas.” “Have any neighbors complained that their pets have gone missing? Like maybe a Rottweiler,” Angie said, “or a miniature pony.” “That’s not funny,” Teabull snapped. “Sir, I’m serious.” Angie’s habit of saying “sir” was the result of a childhood rule imposed by her father, whose own father had been a career Marine. She said, “These snakes feed only on live prey. Are you sure no animals have disappeared in the neighborhood?” Teabull shot another uneasy look at Mauricio before saying, “I’ll ask around.”
Angie turned to the groundskeeper. “All right, let’s see that blade of yours.” Because of their gluttonous threat to Florida’s shaky ecological balance, all captured pythons are supposed to be euthanized. A gunshot is the most humane way, but another state-approved method is decapitation by machete. The one that Mauricio loaned to Angie Armstrong was practically new. Teabull said, “One more thing, Ms. Armstrong. Could you please move that thing off-site before you kill it?” “Sir, I’m loving your sense of humor.”
“There are nine hundred guests here tonight!” “Okay, we’ll do it your way,” Angie said. “But I’ll need four of your strongest security guys to help me wrestle it out of the tree. My experience is that large men are often terrified of snakes, so please find me a crew that isn’t. FYI, their tuxedos are going to get trashed big-time. A python that size shits like a fire hose.” As he eyed the immense silent presence up in the banyan, Teabull reconsidered his position. Trying to take the beast alive would turn into a spectacle. The wrangler was right—an inconspicuous removal would be possible only if the snake was limp and unresisting. In other words: dead. Teabull sought assurances from Angie that the act could be carried out quietly, and with a minimum of gore. She said, “I’ll try not to bloody your landscaping.”
Her tone rankled the caretaker, whose priority was to prevent guests from learning of the reptile’s presence on the property. The fallout would be devastating. Hosting parties, weddings and fundraising galas such as the White Ibis and “Stars for SARS” was a lucrative industry in Palm Beach. Competition among mansions had always been intense, but it had turned cutthroat after the social drought inflicted by Covid-19. This was supposed to be the season of the big rebound. Owners of old island estates were counting on event revenue to offset their overhead—parabolic property taxes, criminally priced hurricane insurance and six-figure landscaping fees. Half the fucking pool boys drove Audis. Sponsors of charity balls were seldom fazed to learn that the one-night rental fee for Lipid House was a quarter of a million dollars, not including custom catering.
However, rumors of goliath pythons could wipe out a season’s worth of bookings. The five grand that Teabull had offered the female wildlife wrangler was a bargain; the trust that owned the estate had been prepared to pay ten. Still, the machete and all its messy possibilities made Teabull nervous. In particular he was fretting about that dowager-sized lump in the snake. “So, you’ll be cutting off its head,” he pressed Angie Armstrong, “and that’s all, correct? No further chopping.” “Sir, I’m not fixing cutlets. I’m neutralizing an invasive.”
Angie hated to kill anything, but the magnificent python had signed its own warrant.
Dead or alive, it would be delivered to wildlife officers. The next stop was a biologist’s dissection table. Angie expected to collect no bounty for the specimen because Palm Beach was outside the state’s hunt-for-pay zone. “We’ve moved your vehicle to our rear gate,” Teabull informed her, “to expedite the departure phase. Is there anything else you need?” “A backhoe would be swell,” Angie said. Teabull hoped she was joking. “I’ll leave you to your work,” he said, receding into the cover of the topiary.
“Wait—what about my money?” “Your fee will be in the console of your vehicle, Ms. Armstrong.” “Just call it a pickup truck, sir. That’s what it is.” But Teabull had already slipped out of earshot. Mauricio steadied the ladder while Angie climbed. The machete was sharp. It worked fine.
~~~
Mea Culpa to me, first... I saw the author's name and thought I had read him before and enjoyed it... I was wrong... Mea Culpa to me and you, you will be subjected to a satire that includes much about the rich and famous that live or visit that "White House of the South..." Where you will be subjected to meeting the group of cult members:
...the POTUS Pussies, a group of Palm Beach women who proclaimed brassy loyalty to the new, crude-spoken commander-in-chief. For media purposes they had to tone down their name or risk being snubbed by the island’s PG-rated social sheet, so in public they referred to themselves as the Potussies. Often they were invited to dine at Casa Bellicosa, the Winter White House, while the President was in residence. He always made a point of waving from the buffet line or pastry table. During the pandemic lockdown, he even Zoom-bombed the women during one of their cocktail-hour teleconferences. News of Kiki Pew’s disappearance at the IBS gala swept through the Potussies faster than a blast sales alert from Saks. The group’s co-founder—Fay Alex Riptoad, of the compost and iron ore Riptoads—immediately dialed the private cell phone of the police chief...
Yes, this book is a satire and is especially well done. So well done, that the satire actually reads as the reality of those four years--at least to those, like me, who knew that what was written...was...true... as it related to the sycophants and their love of powerful people... Because, after all, when they are introduced, you will learn not only the name of the individual, but you will be told that they are of the family of...such and such--whatever big corporation(s) their family is. or maybe both. if the husband and wife merged to create an even bigger, richer, set of people who are above all the rest of us--dontcha know... And, frankly, if you don't use a double last name you would never be invited to these events...No, I really don't write satire, but I do a good job with sarcasm, when warranted...
Also, these rich and famous have nothing better to do than celebrate all the charitable events they can on behalf of any disease that you can think of...and then spend, spend, spend, drink, drink, drink, maybe do some drugs...you get the idea...Seriously if there was research for the elimination of hammertoes, hey, maybe I'd even attend...NOT...
And so it was during one of these fabulous events that one of the potussies disappeared. She liked to use Kiki Pew as her social name, which of course, was changed to Kikey when the president got involved... Now that, slight of name was quite a fancy play on words since Hitler had already been brought into the picture during that first 2016 administration, even though it has been brought much more to the front these days!
The one bright spot is a young woman who wants to be called Angie... She's rough and tough, after being in jail for placing the hand of a man where it could be bitten off at one point in her life... He and his prosthetic hand now calls Angie every night at 6PM to tell her just how much he hates her, ending with threats...and more... This latter delightful character will continue throughout the book, or at least until he's... gone... Which reminds me, actually I did like the climax brought about by a retired governor...and his pets...
Angie loves animals of all kinds and has become an individual who takes care of pests, although mice or rats is a little too small a job unless it is an emergency... Well, Angie has handled quite a number of pythons since they had found their way into Palm Beach and she knows exactly what she is going to find inside of the huge snake that she was forced to kill at the event where Kiki disappeared... Of course, just the title and the snake on the cover surely has given you that idea, right?
But she took it away, froze it, and planned on getting it to be examined ASAP... Except that, first, she had a breakin at her home which got her wondering... And, then, when somebody got into her rented storage place and took only that snake... Well, she knew for sure... In fact, back at the half-million dollar rented mansion, somebody had actually seen Kiki disappear... And now the head honcho knew what had to happen. They could not afford for anybody to know that not only had Kiki disappeared... but knowing How...was just not going to happen!
Now up until this point, other than a few references to the women who excitedly pant over the president, it was kinda a humorous murder mystery. Quite Unusual, even...
But, you see, in order to keep this confidential, power would be needed to control the media... Really, did they think that the rich and famous cared whether a business went bankrupt--any publicity is always good publicity, even if it is bad...for somebody else... And, so, the potpussies wanted to hold an event at the winter white house, where they always lunched when meeting, thinking that the president knew them as true supporters and as individuals...LOL Yeah, Kikey was to be celebrated...
And that's when the twist of the book moves into the presidential family events... Let me just say that, if satire is supposed to be based on some basis of truth, this writer sure chose the wrong spouse to spotlight, at least in my opinion... But, hey, sex sells books, they say... No matter whether the chosen subject has actually been involved in events provided... Throwing in lots of gratuitous vulgarity made it even better, right?
Ok, there were some bright spots with Angie and other "regular" people in the book... Perhaps it is the devastating actions being wrought on America right now by that same president, however he got back in office after two impeachments, becoming a felon...and so much more... Nah... for me, reality colliding with satirical fiction is beyond my willingness to praise... And even the potpussies got upset when the individual security guards for each of the women for whom it had been provided "because of their fear that, like Kiki, they would also disappear, thoroughly enjoyed their status of being accompanied by private guards... And... these women, when the guards were pulled back, thought nothing of a few threats of blackmail to ensure they could keep those guards at their sides... Yeah, dontcha just love the rich and famous... egotistical, selfish, glamorous, and drinking their way through all charitable events where millions pass hands, held for every disease known...
Why the fxxx couldn’t they play Pearl Jam?
A final note from me. One of my bosses used to tell me I didn't have a sense of humor--I never laughed at his jokes... I don't... I don't have a sense of humor where somebody makes fun of somebody else just to get a laugh... At that time, Polack jokes were often shared... Nope! Not my kind of humor... The first time I watched Archie Bunker, I hated it. But, you know, satire does have its place in literature. After awhile, I started to realize what that television show was trying to do...and I "got" it thereafter...
So, what I'm saying is that if you enjoy humor within satire, then this book is well written and sometimes funny in a strange sort of way. But I really resent that the Office of our President can easily be used--quite easily in fact--to laugh at and make fun of... Me, I need to respect somebody in positions of authority over me. If that is not possible, then I need to act to replace that individual... America deserves to have a man leading America that works to represent ALL of us living in the United States... When a man stops aid to children in need, fires veterans, works to prevent regulations for protection of our world, takes away public education...and I could keep on going... then this man needs to be not laughed at in satire, but simply to be removed from office... So, you decide, if making fun of the rich and famous works for you, go for it... Many others enjoy this author's words...
Looking for humor is not something I do...finding humor in small things, like sharing tidbits about my niece's children is what makes me smile and laugh... I happen to like that about myself...
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