Anne Shillolo Presents Goodbye Lake Street - A DC Holly Towns Murder Mystery - Port Alma--Canada--Murder Mystery Book 5

 

“Quick? As far as I can recall, the name doesn’t come up as part of Allenby’s online network. So, Jaime gets taken within days of these two guys getting killed? What’s going on?”

Danny Cavallo felt a small prick of anxiety. He set his phone back down on the conference room table and tried to focus on the presentation. He was in the first month of a temporary placement with the RCMP. From his role as a detective in the Port Alma PD’s Criminal Investigations Unit, to Operation Ladybird with a national police force? The Royal Canadian Mounted Police? They didn’t actually use horses anymore. But still. Total culture shock. He’d known he’d be working on cross-border crime between Canada and the US, but had been surprised at the immediate assignment to a task force on human trafficking. And the kicker had been the focus on child protection. It had been a challenging introduction to the shadowy world of abuse and exploitation. And now, here he was trapped in a room watching a slide show full of shocking photos and dark statistics, worrying because his own daughter hadn’t checked in after school. His eyes kept wandering from the screen at the front of the room to the screen of his phone. He willed the device to display a cheery text from his 11-year-old. Every so often, he surreptitiously nudged the phone to life, his stomach clenching at the blank screen and the minutes creeping by on the clock. 

Once Jaime had turned 10, she’d begged to be allowed to walk home from school by herself. Cavallo and his ex, Charlotte, had agreed, with many conditions. Jaime was proud of her independence, and ecstatic to be leaving the after-school program. With a recent birthday celebrating her 11th, she was growing even more self-reliant. When Danny had thought about the risks, he had to admit there wasn’t too much exposure for the daughter he adored. Charlotte worked from home as a virtual assistant for a law firm and, as they shared custody of Jaime, she picked the girl up from school half the time, anyway. The weeks that Cavallo had Jaime, she had sports team practices on a couple of afternoons, and lots of company from other kids on the walk home from her neighborhood school on the remaining days. Besides, Cavallo’s shifts meant he was home within half an hour of her arrival. Until the new job. Now, instead of heading out of the station in the late afternoon, he was lucky to make it in time for the dinner hour. So far, Jaime had been fine with the schedule. She’d never before forgotten to text him. A voice from his new sergeant penetrated his worry. “Are we boring you, Constable?” It felt strange for Danny to be a constable once again, but his role was comparable to what he’d done in CIU. He didn’t really care much about the title. “No, sir,” he said immediately. But as soon as the boss was focused back on the front of the room, he grabbed his phone and messaged Jaime. ‘Everything OK?’ He honestly expected to get a ‘Yes, dad’ and a bunch of emojis. The longer he waited for the message, the more he could feel his heart rate accelerate. Sweat was beginning to roll down his back. He knew it was an extreme reaction, but after being immersed in Operation Ladybug, his brain was pretty much conditioned to expect the worst. Cavallo no longer cared if the sarge got angry. He grabbed the phone and texted Charlotte. ‘Is Jaime with you?’ ‘Swimming. But it ended an hour ago.’ He leaped to his feet and blurted, “Boss, my daughter’s missing. I have to go.” He looked around wildly, as if someone in this elite group of police officers could magically give him an answer. Of course, he got nothing but startled looks and a couple of shocked expressions. The sarge was all business. “Go ahead. You know what to do. I’m sure she’ll turn up fine, but keep us posted.” Cavallo sprinted out of the new glass and steel RCMP building, and across the large parking lot to his black Jeep, already on the phone with Charlotte and cursing his distance from home and the Port Alma PD. He swept a light dusting of snow off the windshield with the sleeve of his black leather jacket, and hopped in. The RCMP had taken over a new building in the industrial park in Port Alma’s east end. It was large enough for offices, labs, and any other facilities that they needed. But with Cavallo living with his daughter almost at the Gull River on the western edge of Port Alma, it meant a drive across the whole city to get to and from work. At this time of year, it was already completely dark, and this only ratcheted his panic up a notch. “Charlie, it’s me. I’m on my way out of the office. I haven’t heard from her.” “What do you mean? She didn’t text you?” “No. And I texted her, and she never replied. I hope it’s nothing. Maybe she forgot to charge the phone or something. I’m headed to the house to see if she’s there, but it’s going to take me at least 20 minutes. I need you to start calling every friend and teammate you can think of.” “Oh, Danny, what’s happening?” He could hear the tears in her voice, but cut her off. “Just do it. Let me know when you’re done.” He started the car, fastened his seatbelt with one hand, and with the other pushed the speed dial for the Port Alma PD. Before the call connected, he heard the chime for an incoming text. He slammed his foot down on the brake and looked at the screen. Had Jaime finally remembered? His heart sank as he saw it was just a message from a friend. Holly Towns wanted to know if he was free for dinner. At any other time, he would have sent back a heart emoji and an enthusiastic ‘yes.’ But at the moment, he felt like he’d never eat again. In fact, he could hardly breathe, he was so worried. He quickly thumbed a reply. ‘Busy. Emergency.’ In the next second, he heard the voice of the duty sergeant at police HQ. At the same time, he pressed the accelerator. “Sarge, it’s Danny Cavallo.” “Hey Cavallo, how are you doing?” “Bad, sir. I think my daughter, Jaime, is missing. She never got home from school and never texted me like usual. I’m on my way to the house to check, but I haven’t heard from her.” “Slow down, Cavallo. Are you driving?” “Yeah.” “Don’t you have one of those tracking apps on her phone?” Cavallo slammed on the brakes, signaled, and pulled quickly across traffic and into the lot at Memorial Park. He didn’t want to stop, but was kicking himself for not remembering the app. Towns had put it on his and Jaime’s phones a month or two ago and he’d never even looked at it. What was the thing called? Tracker or something. Once the Jeep stopped moving, he said, “Hang on, Sarge. Yeah, I have one, but I’ve never used it. I totally forgot.” He brought up the home screen on his device, and sure enough. Traxsy. There it was. He was almost afraid to look, but took a deep breath and opened it. Jaime, or her phone, was on Lake Street, at the opposite end of the street from Holly Towns’ condo. The whole street was only three blocks long, but Towns was right near the water and the beacon on his phone was further north. “I see it!” he said. “OK, the closest address is 550 Lake Street.” “I’ll send a car. Don’t kill yourself or anyone else getting there. It won’t help matters.” Cavallo tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, ignored the advice, and took off like a shot. He used voice commands to call Charlotte. She sounded as bad as he felt, but he spoke over her. “Those class and team lists. Do any of the kids live on Lake Street?” “I think so. Just a second. Yes. Victoria. Tori Loewen.” “Did you call them?” “Not yet. I’ll do it now.” “Never mind. I’ll be there in five minutes. What’s their actual address?” “645 Lake Street. Is that where she is? Is Jaime with the Loewens?” “I have no idea,” he shouted. “I have to hang up. I’m driving.” “This better not be because of you, Danny.” There it was. If anything bad was happening, it was because of him or his job. He knew she’d eventually end up at that point, just didn’t expect it so fast. He disconnected. He went as quickly as he dared along Petrie and slowed to make a left onto Belvedere. Then two more quick turns, parking just around the corner on Lake. A cruiser was already there, the light rack splashing blue and red all over the road and the fronts of the houses. He glanced up and saw he’d landed right in front of number 645. Dashing up the walk, taking the stairs two at a time, he rang the doorbell and then pounded on the door because no one answered in the first second. A short, blond woman carrying a toddler on her hip opened the door, taking in the police car outside, and Cavallo’s unsmiling face. “What is it? Is everything all right?” “I’m Danny Cavallo. Is my daughter Jaime here?” “No. Sorry. Is there a problem? I picked the girls up from the pool early. It turns out practice was cancelled for a senior swim meet. Jaime came over for a snack. Then she left to walk home.” Her voice was rising. “What’s wrong? She said it was OK, that you let her walk home alone.” Before Danny could respond, he heard a shout from down the block. “Cavallo, over here.” He turned and ran, his heart in his throat and a wave of dread rushing through him. It was no surprise to see that the constable was standing on the snowy front lawn of 550 Lake Street. At his feet was a square pink backpack. He crouched down, and the cop said, “Wait. I’m sorry. Gloves, Cavallo.” “You’re right,” he muttered. He stood and got a pair of nitrile gloves from his inside jacket pocket, and then knelt to open the zipper on the backpack. His worst fears were realized and desperation hammered them home. Towns had done three things over dinner that night. She installed the app on the phone, gave Jaime an electronic key fob for her house key, and attached a second tracker to her pack. All three were linked to apps on his phone. And all three items were right here in front of him. “Useless. Completely useless,” he said, his voice cracking.

~~~~

Human Trafficking is the most horrendous action that has ever entered the minds of criminals... It has been going on for, it seems like, forever, but continues to this day... The terrible part of it is that, often, like with the Epstein case, others are used to bring potential victims into the situation before it is too late. This book explores every aspect of this situation through a series of cases that are being handled by the Port Alma and spotlights the main character DC Holly Towns. Towns is a character that draws readers in, for a reason. She's empathic and sympathetic, that is part of her being and routinely comes to the fore, often faster than her male counterpoints, in "sensing" the connections. That gift has often led to closing many cases.

But this time, there are many cases that are overwhelming the group. Several murders of young men. A group of younger people who have taken a personal interest in what they see as that the police are not effective enough to solve the cases. A kidnapping of the daughter of an officer. As well as a potential domestic abuse case!

And Anne Shillolo skillfully leads readers through the potential or actual connections to be found, while working each case individually...

Men visiting a certain bar seem to be ending up being poisoned, but they are found on the streets, later... So the search takes time and trying to discover if and what is the connections between them is intensive and time-consuming... A final is discovered mutilated, but that was by a snow plow since a major storm has blown in and slowed traffic and activity down even more.

Jamie Cavallo's disappearance hits hard since she's the daughter of Danny, a member of the Criminal Investigations unit at Port Alma. He and Holly had been somewhat involved, but when Danny was sent to the RCMP, things had slowed down. But Holly was just as concerned when she learned that Jamie had disappeared. Her schoolbag had been found on the way home and later a video by a wonderful 80-year-0ld woman who kept cameras running in the front of her house for helping any way she could, was the one that discovered that a man had been hiding and had snatched her. Thank God for those who try to help any way they can! Even in a book! Danny was allowed to stay in his home office until she was found... at least the first time it happened...

“Sarge, what do you think about motivation? Is the person targeting child abusers and people with kiddie porn? Or taking revenge on greedy scammers? Preventing them from destroying more lives.” “Good question, Holly. But I don’t have an answer.”

And then there was the Amber Crew, named after the Amber alert sent out for missing children. These were young adults who wanted, most to help, but in many ways, caused more trouble than if they had just turned in information they found. Their goal was to protect the innocent, but in trying to do so, other people sometimes got hurt...

This book is character-driven, so much so that it becomes extremely complex, so be prepared. With so many cases being handled, together with the use of computer and video support, it soon was movement between and among cases, and a beginning to make connections at least by type of crimes. Finally, I started following Holly as my focal point--she always seemed to be at least minimally involved with all that was happening...

This is a clear police procedural mystery, with even a high-tech type of evidence board/system that allowed one person to input all evidence from which anything could be then merged, compared, and tracked. This proved to bee especially helpful as the WHO behind the crimes became more and more clear...

But... nothing... could prepare you for the climatic ending! Shocking... But...quite appropriate...

GABixlerReviews

Wendy Parciak Presents Requiem for Locusts - An Extraordinary Look at Fearful Lives

 

“Do you see the little pale yellow flowers at the tips of the branches? Hanging in long clusters?” “Flower child. I always thought it of her. Perfect, perfect child, covered with roses. Yellow and gold and pink,” the voice answered, promptly this time. It was easiest to assume that this response was a yes. Step 4: Answer subject, and continue in this manner until you or subject is tired of topic. 

“Those are called catkins,” Dr. Norton said. “They hold the male flowers on this tree, and if you look—” “Yes, kitty kitty. You’re fluffy, and you’re a girl, not a boy, aren’t you?” “What?” Dr. Norton had momentum now and hated to stop. “She’s a sweet thing, and she’s my friend, isn’t she?” “Well...,” Dr. Norton hesitated, sensing that his finely-engineered conversation on oak trees was crumbling. He had never gone past Step 4, but he could see that would be necessary now. Step 5: Subject is tired of topic. Change topic to subject’s choice. “Isn’t she?” the voice persevered. 

Dr. Norton sighed. “Yes,” he said, abandoning the oak flowers. Perhaps another time... “You really think so?” “I do.” Dr. Norton was amazed. This person actually cared about his opinion, and it had nothing to do with demyelination of the nervous system, perivascular inflammation in the brain or progressive-relapsing multiple sclerosis. His opinion about a cat! He gave a small, shy smile to the shadowed trunk of the oak tree. “I know she’s happy because she’s purring, and she must be purring because she likes you.” Dr. Norton paused, feeling the trembling bark beneath his hands. “She’s not an easy lady to please,” he added. His cheeks warmed at the boldness of this remark. “She isn’t?” the voice sounded doubtful. “No...she’s often annoyed with me these days. Even though she’s been with me for thirteen years. That’s why I was so delighted to discover her purring here.” “Yes, you’re a happy girl, happy girl, friendly girl,” the voice crooned to his cat. “Such a friendly girl, friendly friend...” Dr. Norton waited. “She likes to have her back rubbed, right above the base of her tail,” he volunteered. “Oh yes, I know what Princess likes, I do,” the voice chuckled. 

“Princess is...a good name,” Dr. Norton said, trying to be agreeable. “I call her Mathilde.” “Ma-thilde. Like Matilda?” “Yes, very similar to that.” “Matilda. Almost like me. Do you know the song?” And before Dr. Norton could respond, the song came drifting down from the top of the tree,  “Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, Under the shade of the Kulibar tree, And he sang as he watched and he waited ‘till his billy boiled: “You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me....” 

Dr. Norton pressed his hands into the bark, furrowed imprints in his palms. The singing was wistful, translucent. Each note descended and tingled on his face, along with the rounded raindrops, perfectly on pitch, glasslike. He stared at his hands, or where they would be if he could see anymore on this spring night. As the melody swirled around his hands, his head, he thought of himself as a young child, skipping and singing in a preschool class.  “Up rode the squatter mounted on his thoroughbred, Down came the troopers, one, two, three, Whose that jolly jumbuck you’ve got in your tucker bag? “You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me....” 

He tried to remember what the song meant, but all he could recall was that it was odd. Something to do with sheep shearers wandering around Australia carrying blankets to keep themselves warm. Was Matilda the blanket? “Up jumped the swagman, sprang into the billabong, “You’ll never catch me alive, said he. And his ghost can be heard as you pass by that billabong: “You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me.”

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me.And he sang as he watched and he waited ‘till his billy boiled:“You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me.”

A heavy stillness settled out of the air. Dr. Norton didn’t move. He had no idea what to do now. How could conversation follow a song such as that? Step 6: End conversation? “What are you thinking?” asked the voice, startling Dr. Norton out of his thoughts. “Oh,” he said. “Uh...,” relevant thoughts, relevant thoughts, Roland. “I was thinking...what a lovely song that was. I mean, not the song, but the singing,” he hurried to explain, his cheeks on fire again. “Although the song itself is quite nice, too. Perhaps I should go inside now,” he added. He removed his hands from the tree.

“Wait, Mr. White Oak Man,” said the voice. “Miss Matilda will come with you now.” Mathilde. Once again, he had forgotten about her. “Mathilde?” he called up the tree trunk. “Mrrow.” Here she was, slithering down the tree and into his arms. “Mathilde. I’m glad you didn’t get stuck up there,” he said, with his nose buried in her wet fluffy neck. “It’s time for us to go do some reading.” Holding Mathilde, he began to step cautiously away from the close blackness of the tree. At the edge of the canopy, he hesitated. “Goodnight,” he called upwards. “And...thank you. Mathilde has had a fine evening.” Excellent resolution. The tree breathed a shower of mist in response. Dr. Norton waited, wanting to ask the voice if it was indeed real, and if so, why it should choose to spend a damp evening in the top of his oak tree. But that might precipitate another conversation, and he was worn out. Or he might find that he had had an imaginary dialogue with one of his plants. Best to end on a good note, he decided, and ask no more questions. He shut the screen door, latched the back door, and carried Mathilde to the kitchen.

“Look at you, Tilly, you must feel terrible when you’re all wet like that.” He rubbed a towel over her thick fur. She sat without making a sound, looking pleased with herself. He used a corner of the towel to rub the short fur on her head. She twitched her tail to show that her patience was wearing thin, and he hooked a finger under her collar to keep her still. “What’s this?” he asked her. Her collar felt unusually lumpy. He parted the fur on her neck and instead of the black of her collar saw gloppy dirty white, no...pale greenish yellow. Soggy smashed petals, hundreds of tiny petals connected in catkins. Catkins intertwined, around and around her collar. “Did you get tangled in the oak flowers, Mathilde?” He pulled some strands off and held them up, sniffed them. They had little fragrance, but they smelled faintly of growth and crushed earth...

~~~

Breathtaking

Compelling!

Page-Turner

Informative - Love Thy Neighbor 

 

Normally I would read the short summary for a possible book, but having connected with the author, after trying to rebuild twitter connections after its takeover, I just bought the book and began to read...

It was interesting to try to get into a book cold turkey, so I was soon enthralled as each new character was brought forth. Certainly this book is character-driven, in an unique and extraordinary manner! You see, if you happen to have moved into town, purchased a home on Locust Street, you may quickly begin to wonder one thing...

Does anybody else live on the street? In fact, the author sets up the book for us, her readers, in a Prologue. She talks about the houses, the walks, the grass, which apparently is required to be kept in a certain way... Still, nothing about who lives on the street... except to point out it could be you, me, or even a psycho... But does it really matter, she challenges...

And so the book began. And there I was, Willow Stokes. I am a single older woman, living alone, and somewhat physically fragile... Ms Stokes differs in one way from me. She has nobody to depend upon or to help her. Miss Stokes was quite self sufficient, until noises and voices started beyond her home, she knew that she wouldn't be able to settle until she learned what was happening. She crept out carefully, wearing her special glasses to see better. At first what she saw scared her--but then she looked again and saw it was a large painted bus that took up most of the street. She escaped this major disturbance with earplugs as she shuffled off to bed...But she worried about what was going on...

Clarence and Janice St. Couer might be considered the elite of the street. And, like some who get into higher paying jobs are those who are hungry for more and more power, while looking down on those who do not meet their status... It was Janice who immediately, when seeing the bus, decided to call the police, and even made a sign and placed it on the window of the bus to warn them. Unfortunately, it rained and the sign could not be read. They have a two-year-old little girl who they think rules the world, being the smartest, and bound to be able to do anything they wanted her to do.

Miss Stokes comes back into the story, thus introducing our new character, Dr. Norton. Miss Stokes has fallen outside and her neighbor Dr. Norton hears her...

Dr. Norton is a neurologist and reminded me of my nephew who had Asperger's Syndrome. Dr. Norton is a good man and has a wonderful professional career, but had come to realize that he is totally unprepared to meet...people. Yep, Dr. Norton and I were also in sync. With guidance, Dr. Norton had learned a set of steps which could guide him through conversation which required what most people call "small talk." So each time he was involved, he would struggle how to deal with the situation. At least, finally, Dr. Norton was able to handle the situation to get Miss Stokes to the hospital. And, to do this, he had sought help from the newest resident--the owner of the bus!

Stopping there, I wanted to spotlight just how the author has garnered so much attention from her readers. In reading many books, I don't think I have ever read a writer who was so prolific in weaving each and every character through not only the physical descriptions so that we feel like we can imagine the individual, as well as how that person speaks as a part of his or her personality. Picture for yourself, just how you might think through your day--moving from thought to thought, idea to idea, backward and forward until you are able to decide just how and what you want to say or do... 

Now, think about your friends, your family members...how they differ from you...and what that means in your own ability to interact with them. I could go on and on, but I must say that Parciak's character development, especially in, this, her first book, is qualifiedly well beyond  any in my memory of thousands of books.

Back to the story...for before long--two young women slowly invade each life on the street in some way... as the Circus has come to Town!

Eugenia is one of the main characters. She is 13 and lives with her father. One day, one of her neighbors called; she had never met the woman so was surprised when she explained that her babysitter had to be away for a week and hoped that Eugenia would be able to take care of their daughter, Alicia, during that time period. Eugenia was thrilled--finally a way to make a little money...

But she had no idea what she was getting into! For one, the child, age two, never went anywhere outside of her home except in a car, being driven. This tragedy soon became the first problem to solve since Eugenia of course was not old enough to drive...

The home of the couple who had hired Eugenia was certainly reflective of the personalities of the two parents who both worked. But only as we read do we begin to see the obsessive-compulsion of the father while at the same time, the insecurity and trauma of the past that has held the mother for many years. Watching how Eugenia handles each task within an extremely structured environment, well, was just plain fun. 

Eugenia may not be brilliant, but she sure came across as an extremely self-sufficient and intelligent young girl. What she did in order to take care of the child was creative, and indicative of a child who, having faced bad times in the past, was quite able to stand on her own two feet to handle a new situation. And while she faces each new experience, she begins to create a "scene" in her mind in which she works to solve the problem... These little stories flow easily through the entire novel...

Eugenia Walch, an observant girl on Locust Street, gives us the following eyewitness account of a break-and-enter robbery by a sociopathic homophobe.... Or...Eugenia Walch describes in terrifying detail how she outwitted a pack of feral Dobermans, which were about to consume one of her neighbors....

One of the surprising times was when Eugenia had decided to take Alicia into the back yard and, upon seeing what was a very carefully created sand pond was seen by Eugenia and Alicia as, simply a sand box! (And even stranger when her father comes across this ruined scene!) And, it was at that sand box that Eugenia and Alicia first met the second young woman.

Infantile French lesson versus her first big break as a journalist? No contest. She scudded back across the street to the St. Coeur’s yard, yanked her roller blades off and threw them under the bush, and tiptoed in her socks to the backyard shrub-wall. She pressed her ear against prickly branches, inhaling the pungency of sap and fleshy blue juniper cones. Nothing. 

She pushed her hand into the branchy mire. “Ow.” She pulled her hand back. How did the St. Coeurs get into their backyard? Not from here, evidently. The neighbor’s yard had a rather hostile-looking gate, so she climbed up on the porch, unlocked the heavy doors and went inside, remembering just in time to de-activate the security system before the alarm went off. She trotted to the large glass doors in the sun room, where shades kept all but a hint of the sun from entering. She slid the doors open and stepped out onto the deck. 

The yard below was large and bare. No grass. Round rocks stretched in an orderly fashion in all directions to the boundary hedge. Here and there a small tightly-pruned juniper stuck out. In the middle of the yard, plastic edging bordered a kidney-shaped area that was filled with sand. Not an errant leaf or a weed in sight. No crickets chirping, either. 

Eugenia didn’t see any criminals, wild Dobermans or anything else exciting, so she descended to the yard and pulled off the car seat. “Look, a sand box.” Eugenia deposited Alicia in the middle of the kidney, so that her bottom made a nice round imprint in the carefully swirled, rake-crafted ridges of sand. Alicia looked up. Her mouth formed into an “O.” Uh-oh, fish gasping for air, watch out. 

“It’s fun. Every child plays in the sand,” Eugenia assured her. “Here, I’ll show you.” She picked up the cow hoof, which had fallen into Alicia’s lap. “Gross, it’s all soggy,” she said, nearly dropping the stinky thing in disgust, but she forced herself to show Alicia how to scoop up sand with it and deposit it elsewhere. “Problem is, you need water to build a proper sand castle. Tell you what, you play with that while I go get you some.”  Eugenia detoured to the side of the yard to see if she could see where the screaming person had come or gone. Much like the front side, the inside of the hedge appeared impenetrable. She walked the length of it, trailing her hand along the flat, scaly foliage. Wait. Here was a skinny branch that had freed itself from the pruned conformity of its partners. It angled into the yard a short ways, soaking up sun. She poked her hand behind it. “OW!” She yanked her hand out. Scratched again, worse this time. 

But wait a minute, she thought, that wasn’t the resistance of millions of tiny interlaced branchlets. Those were prongs. Sharp ones. Broken-off branches. She peered into the dusty darkness, and saw tens, maybe hundreds of white tips. Woody limbs that had been snapped and exposed, lighting a path from one side of the shrub to the other. Incontrovertible evidence that a large body, or maybe a small but fast-moving body, had come through here. 

For the first time, Eugenia felt a chill. If the body belonged to the screaming person, then where was he? Or she? Or it? The first alien to land on earth had an unsavory encounter with the thick-witted residents of Locust Street and fled back to the Andromeda Galaxy with hateful tales of the cruelness, greed and ignorance of the human race. This caused the Intergalactic Council to place a ban on further contact of any sort with Earth. And from that day onward the blue-green planet was left alone, to fight her own internal wars, and to assume that the life within her was indeed unique in the universe.... 

Eugenia wandered in the direction of the house without seeing any more clues. Of course, a bulldozer was about the only thing that would leave a trace in this yard, with the exception of the hedge and maybe the sand pond. She climbed the deck stairs and went inside, trying to remember why she had come. Oh yes, water. 

She looked up. After the basement, the sun felt like a wall of brightness and warmth. What was she doing? Water. Alicia. Eugenia squinted into the yard and breathed a sigh of relief. Alicia was still there. But...no. That was not Alicia, unless she had grown and sprouted an abundance of dark hair. Without thinking, Eugenia ran towards the threatening intruder, towards the sandbox where her feeble little charge had been playing. 

“Don’t!” she yelled in a voice hoarse with fright, and the silver disc sailed out of her hand, spinning and glinting in the sun, arcing up and then down, down, down until it plunged headfirst into the sand, a foot shy of the black-haired maniac. Darn it, a piss-poor throw, Eugenia thought as she ran behind it. So much for being heroic. She stopped short at the sandbox, chest heaving. Alicia was sitting where Eugenia had deposited her, eating sand. She was paying no attention to the stranger sitting in front of her. “...think you’re telling the truth,” the stranger was whispering to Alicia. “You don’t like Carrie or Leon or Jessica either. Perhaps together we...” The stranger looked up, suddenly aware of Eugenia’s presence. Eugenia found herself staring at a pale, open face with dark eyes that were wide-open and trusting. “You’re...just a girl!” Eugenia said. For once, she was at a loss for words. The stranger was small, thin and looked as though she was only a few years older than Eugenia. Eugenia felt weak in the knees now that she knew she wasn’t dealing with an alien being, or some big, hairy convict from the city jail. As soon as Eugenia had spoken, a change came over the girl’s eyes. They darkened to an inky black, a blackness that soaked up the sun’s energy and wrung it out somewhere deep inside.

“No!” screamed the girl, jumping up. “I am not a boy! You can’t make me be one! Make Carrie be one instead!” She was clutching a shiny plastic bag into which she plunged her hand and threw a handful of something yellow at Eugenia. Eugenia dove to the ground to avoid being hit. She found herself face-to-face with one of the small yellow missiles. It was a corn chip. What a freak! She almost laughed out loud. 

“Wait,” she said, ducking her head to avoid another shower of chips. “Didn’t you hear me? I agree with you. You’re very definitely a girl. That’s the first thing I thought when I saw you. Truly.” The girl retreated to the far end of the sand pond, clutching the bag of chips, which looked strikingly similar to the bag Eugenia had opened for Alicia’s breakfast. She glowered and spoke in a voice so low Eugenia could hardly make out the words. “Think you’re so smart, don’t you? ...know better...with Princess Carrie and her knives and tigers...not trustworthy... all fire and light...thought she was a golden child and Leon loved her....know better...it’s me that’s supposed to be the one....know better, I do....”  

“What the heck?” Eugenia interrupted. She was confused and somewhat irritated. Was this complete gibberish or was it a personal attack? And who was Princess Carrie, an evil member of a royal family?

~~~

And Ruining through the remainder of the book is this song...

With unexplainable results since we never learn all of the words...

Well, I was curious enough to find them so they are at the bottom of this article...Latin to English

But it is not really the words that are sought

But rather how the song came into the story...

I was about 40% of the way through the book when I started noticing something... Each of the homes had very high fences or trees, so much so that an individual could not go from one home to another through their back yards. In fact, it quickly became clear that there was little involvement with their neighbors, which is not altogether unusual, except, we sense that most of the individuals are dealing with some personal fear that caused them to withdraw into their home, seeking the security that could not be found out in the world...even on their own street, in their own town... Even one of the newcomers, who presents as an extremely friendly outgoing man, has a terrible burden that he only allows to come forth with those who are caring enough to listen... 

Readers, I was one of those who carefully listened to all those who came to live on Locust Street... I invite you into the most complex book you may ever read... Yet, in many ways, the most touching tale that can only be read as a whole... Because if you don't, you will truly miss the treasure to be found...beyond...the end of this book! How Exciting to say that! I wanted a different ending...but it would have to have been a  lengthy novel that would merely elaborate on the ending we "experience..." Still, I must say that I would love to see a follow up book featuring the two young women, perhaps working together to continue to spotlight the crux of the storyline in Requiem. Don't miss this literary gem!

O fortune

O Fortuna

Like the moon

Velut luna

Changeable

Statu variabilis

Ever growing

Semper crescis

Or you decrease

Aut decrescis

Hateful life

Vita detestabilis

Now it's hard

Nunc obdurat

And then soothes

Et tunc curat

I play the game of the mind

Ludo mentis aciem,

Poverty,

Egestatem,

Power

Potestatem

Like ice.

Dissolvit ut glaciem.

Fate

Sors immanis

And empty

Et inanis,

You are a rolling wheel

Rota tu volubilis

Bad status

Status malus

Vain salvation

Vana salus

Always disintegrating

Semper dissolubilis

Overshadowed

Obumbrata

And veiled

Et velata

You are also looking for me

Michi quoque niteris

Now through the game

Nunc per ludum

Back bare

Dorsum nudum

I will bear your crime.

Fero tui sceleris.

The fate of salvation

Sors salutis

And of virtue

Et virtutis

against me now,

Michi nunc contraria,

It is an emotion

Est affectus

And failure

Et defectus

Always on duty.

Semper in angaria.

In this hour

Hac in hora

Without delay

Sine mora

Touch the heartbeat

Corde pulsum tangite

That by lot

Quod per sortem

It spreads strong

Sternit fortem

All mourn with me

Mecum omnes plangite

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Carl Orff

GABixlerReviews

Linda Prather's Latest Novel, Would You Die For Her? Extraordinary Surprise Climax!

Desperate to block out the screams in the distance, I covered my ears and closed my eyes. “Please, God, please make him stop.” 

I’d never believed in prayer, but the screams stopped, or at least I couldn’t hear them anymore. 

“See what happens when you make me angry, Dakota?” I hadn’t heard him come in. I kept my eyes closed as I huddled in the far corner of the cage. 

A key clicked in the lock. His footsteps approached. “Look at me!” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at his blood-soaked clothes. 

“She suffered your pain.” He squeezed harder. 

“Say, ‘Thank you, Christian.’” 

Another part of my soul died as her blood dripped from my chin. “Thank you, Christian.”

~~~

“I’d like a minute alone with them.”

Though I’d expected the answer to be no, Wagner nodded. “I’ll wait out here. Let me know if you need anything.” 

I entered the familiar room. Look at it as a detective. That was easier said than done. My gaze fell on the music box I’d played with as a little girl while Mrs. Dickson cleaned.

I walked to the dresser and lifted the lid. The small ballerina sprang to life, pivoting and twisting to the sounds of “Waltz of the Butterfly.” Closing the lid, I focused on the walls. 

Bethany had spent some time in the room after killing them. She’d written Broken on every wall three times. I moved closer to study the writing. I needed to ask if the photographer had taken pictures of it. 

Tears filled my eyes when I forced myself to look at the sheet-covered bodies on the four-poster bed. Blood had dripped from the mattress, forming a pool on the floor. She had to stab them more than once. I closed my eyes, looking for the strength to pull back the sheet.

“Dakota Renae Dale, don’t you dare!”

~~~

How do you write a review for a book that, literally, left you in shock? You immediately ask, was that the only way for the author to end the book? Yet, no matter what I explored in my mind, no other ending would suffice. This book does not have a happy ending...yet...it does! That's what makes it so sensational. Readers might have been looking for such an ending, but not really expecting it to actually happen... 

The ending itself was extraordinary...and satisfying... No, I'm not saying two different things. I am merely allowing my own feelings to flow into this review of the latest novel by one of my favorite authors, Linda Prather. As I think back to her very first book which I read and reviewed, I cannot but be proud of how much she has advanced in the ranks of important authors. Her plotting is fascinating and delightfully twisting, yet her continuity allows the reader to sink into being mesmerized by her amazing villain. Words cannot be found to express just how much I came to hate this man! Psychologically dismaying as readers learn more and more, pages turning,  sympathy and anger merging as each action makes you cringe. Yet, wonder how in the world...and when...is this freak going to die?!

Even the love story was unique with both individuals having been affected by the villain and yet, slowly finding themselves drawn toward the other, even as both fought their feelings... The sacrifice of both involved makes a powerful impact on readers that surpasses that of Love Story as it told of death within a relationship!

I find I don't want to go into the story per se. The book, for me, is character driven and brought together in such a unique way, as they become victims of a horrible psychopath. Anything covered by a review could hint at what will be happening in an ongoing story that is fascinating, disgusting, horrible, and intriguing. I would not have wanted to miss this book, nor will I not remember it because of the plot. It is, for me, one of the best psychological suspense thrillers that I've read in years... Prather has surpassed anything else I've read from her and promises to just keep getting better and better as she has reached consistent great writing with a creative genius that surpasses many...

Read this Book!

GABixlerReviews

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Linda S. Prather, was born in Kentucky in 1955. She currently live in Lexington, Kentucky with my fiancé, Coby W. Fuson. She has two wonderful sons, Charles and Steven.

I have always loved reading and writing. And although perhaps not a great literary work, I loved and was inspired by Old Yeller. The characters in that book were real to me. When I started writing, it was my greatest desire to write characters that readers could love and hate, laugh and cry with.
Knowledge was another love. I wanted to learn about everything. I studied metaphysics; delving into touch healing, dream analysis, meditation, and hypnosis. I received my associate's degree in metaphysics in 1992 and continued from there to become a Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist. I spent several years studying the effects of hypnosis on cancer and pain. I taught meditation, dream analysis and self-hypnosis through Eastern Kentucky University's Special Programs for four years. The power of the mind has always fascinated me. I've recently become a paranormal investigator, and love old houses that go bump in the night.

The Gifts and coming soon Sacred Secrets are a combination of my love of mystery, metaphysics and the paranormal.

Essentially Yours by Aaron Paul Lazar Provides More Than Story...

Callie waved a yellow scarf from her pontoon boat and headed erratically toward my dock. The girl who’d been like a sister to me since I was thirteen had never mastered the art of steering. Matter of fact, she’d avoided getting her driver’s license for the past twenty years, and would probably never drive that old Buick her dotty mother left moldering in the garage. 
Shocked to see her outside, I waved back, then swam to the dock and scrambled up the ladder to avoid getting crushed by her two-ton vessel. I grabbed my towel, blotted water from my face and hair, and wrapped it around my new bright pink one-piece suit. I’d been nervous to wear it—I thought it made my thighs look big. But now I’d been caught, and I couldn’t get that towel around me fast enough. I watched the boat drift closer, shocked at my friend’s appearance. Her face twisted in despair...
Worried now, I grabbed the rope she tossed to me and secured it around a piling. The boat glided closer. She looked horrible, as if someone had twisted her insides and squeezed all her pain up into her eyes. Damn. Had someone hurt her again? Some people were magnets for bad luck, and my dear friend seemed to attract trouble like mosquitoes to wet skin after the rain. Last year, her Honeoye Lake cottage had been broken into. The jerks had cleaned her out and beaten her senseless. She still bore the scar on her temple where the bastards had bashed her with her avant-garde pink flamingo centerpiece. Yes. A pink flamingo. Not in her yard, on her coffee table. Draped with pink pearls and fake ivy. Don’t ask. And don’t look so surprised. 
My best friend cut a tragic figure, was pretty in a haunted sort of way, but I never said she had good taste. Of all the households in our quiet lakeside community here in upstate New York, her place was definitely the quirkiest. Callie switched off the ignition, and the boat miraculously nudged the dock with a soft thump. I quickly secured the stern and offered her a hand. 
“Honey, what’s the matter?” With a sob that sounded more like a hiccup, she heaved a big box over the railing and onto the dock, and climbed out after it. “You won’t believe this.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Try me, Velvet.” Callie’s dark hair, delicate features, and big violet eyes used to remind me of the young Liz Taylor in National Velvet, thus the nickname. 
She choked and wept fresh tears. Trembling, she glanced fearfully around her, then locked eyes with me. “Marcie, I…” With another sob, she fell on my shoulder. “Can we go inside, please?” 
“Of course, sweetie.” I picked up the box and led her off the dock and up to the porch. Maneuvering backwards through the screen door, I got us inside and laid the box on the coffee table, then sat her on the couch. “Now. Spill it.”
...Callie looked at Ruby briefly and buried her head in her hands. “Okay. I… I can’t breathe. Marcie. Help me.” 
In seconds, fat tears soaked her cheeks. I pulled her toward me, trying not to stare at the box on the coffee table. 
“Callie. Honey. What is it?” 
She shuddered against me, then sat up and sighed, pointing to the box. “It’s from Sky. And I’m too scared to open it.” 
My throat almost closed. “What? When did it arrive?” I balanced the heavy carton on my knees. Battered and stained, it looked to have been around the world and back. Callie’s name and address were printed neatly on a label. There was no return address...

~~~

Essentially Yours 
Tall Pines Mysteries, #2

By Aaron Paul Lazar

I had missed a book from the Tall Pines Mysteries Series by Aaron Paul Lazar, and am certainly happy I discovered it! Thoroughly enjoyable story...but there was an extra advantage...The book introduces readers to essential oils which are used throughout the book to deal with various physical issues for characters... Interesting and helpful!

The characters in this book were quite intriguing, maybe more so than usual since each of the main characters had to deal with an issue beyond the main thrust of the story. This greatly added several dimensions for each that pulled readers into each individual story with sympathy, and perhaps empathy. For me, the book is definitely character-driven... for the most enjoyment...

Marcie, one of the main female characters, and her best friend, Callie, have lived on Honeoye Lake all of their lives. The story begins as Callie, a recluse, has left her home to visit Marcie. She is clearly distraught and when Marcie meets her boat, Callie immediately starts crying, clearly shocked. Marcie's mind quickly goes back to the tragedy that had happened to Callie, resulting in her seclusion, and whether something similar had occurred.   Callie is carrying a box and they head inside...
Callie shares that she had received a phone call, telling her that the box was coming and that her brother wanted her to have it.  Callie's brother had had been done for 18 years...

But Marcie was also shocked--Callie's brother, Sky, had been her first lover and also had felt deserted when he had disappeared...
Enter Quinn, Marcie's husband, who knew about Sky and was still jealous of that first relationship of his wife...
Why did I bring this up first, well, it's because it's fun to watch Quinn and Marcie as the story moves forward. Especially when Sky finally shows up and doesn't realize that Marcie was not still single and still in love with him--as he was with her...  Sure, Marcie had to be torn between her two lovers. Would this change her life dramatically? 
Aside from that romantic triangle, Marcie also learns that she's had another love pining for her all of her life...Quite a quandary...all the while that a great action mystery is happening!

Sky's box contain four major items... his knapsack from high school which contained a set of essential oils and a book on their use (we learn later that he has been researching, hunting, and developing plant-based remedies for most of his time away) a necklace made out of hemp with a small bottle that looked like another oil, and a small bag of emeralds with a memory stick...

It was obvious that Sky had sent the knapsack, and that he wanted Callie to have these items...but did that mean he was dead, in hiding, and what could each of these mean. They immediately tried to discover what was on the memory stick, but it was encrypted!

When Quinn came home, he was most excited by the essential oils, which he had learned about as a native american youth. He immediately started opening various bottles and studying the book that explained how each was/could be used...From the story, these oils seemed to be miraculous just as they were bottled. And Quinn estimated the value as very high... But how were they to know what these other items were and what to do with them...

Thankfully, they do think about security for the items, because it wasn't very long before the first break-in occurred. On Callie's side of the lake! First Callie's sister was murdered, and then Callie was kidnapped... A search continued in Callie's place. It was clear that somebody was concerned that they find what they were looking for. But what was it? The emeralds, the necklace or the memory stick...for certainly, the oils were available and would not be worth killing somebody for them, or were they missing something else?

Callie couldn't help but begin to think about her time with Sky. Had his time in the Gulf War resulted in changes...physically, to his mind? They knew Sky had served eight years, but then had disappeared, some calling it MIA. But Sky had called Callie just once with the short message that he was alive, but that he had to go underground for awhile... Now it was 18 years later... and Sky had not been seen by anybody in his family...

Quinn had foolishly referred to Sky as an idiot when he learned he had sent the box...Immediately Marcie had screamed that he wasn't an idiot. Fortunately, Quinn reacted in a calm manner, having realized his mistake--but that didn't stop him from beginning to wonder and worry whether Marcie would welcome Sky back into her life... And Marcie had always felt guilty because she had wanted to go to New York and had split from him...only to blame herself for his disappearance...

The memory stick had been left with Marcie, and she had been trying to figure out a password that Sky might have used; finally, exasperated, she tried Callie, who didn't answer her phone... But was even concerned enough when she didn't answer to get into her boat to go to Callie's home...

She got there and discovered Callie wasn't there... She went next door to her sister's house...and discovered her body... Marcie's first question was whether Callie had finally killed Willow, knowing that they were at each other all the time. By then, the police had arrived... Marcie learned that it had been Callie who called in Willow's murder, but Marcie was not satisfied that she had simply left the scene for something. She explained to Runyon, the female office in charge, that Callie was agoraphobia and would not have left her home...

Callie's dog, Beau, had been left in the house, so Marcie took the dog with her when she went back home... Even if the police were doing an investigation, Callie was going to discover anything she could on her own... She and Quinn had gone back to Callie's house, hoping to find things the police search would not discover...only to be arrested by the officer covering the crime scenes... They were cleared when Runyon came and were successful in discovering, a mood ring of Marcie's, Callie's Diary, both of which were not important to the case, but of value to Marcie in her search...

And Marcie knew where Callie might have gone, if she had gone alone...To Tall Pines and also to a small town near there where the box had first been mailed...
And the search begins, though the people in the area weren't talking... A major fire had occurred and they were all afraid...

Little by little, what was happening started to be discovered and they were fairly certain that the emeralds, though perhaps an extra benefit, wasn't what was being sought...

Fascinating and suspenseful in details of what happens, we learn, first, that Sky may be in the area, but that, he too, was scared and on the run... What was going on!?!

It's a page-turner from then on as, first, he begin searching for Sky...as well as Callie... while realizing that what was happening was much bigger than lost friends... And finally getting into the memory stick gave them, first, the name of a corporation and what was occurring... One local doctor did share that they should not trust any locals and recommended they call in the Feds...

Wow! Money, Power, and Greed seems often to be behind murder and many had been killed by the corporation behind the search...They had the staff and equipment and were only able to be matched by the FBI and their staff and equipment. Helicopter fights in the air are quite scary, not knowing who was in the 'copters! I loved the book and highly recommend to all... If you are already a fan of Lazar, and missed this one...do make it a must-read...you don't want to almost miss it, like I did!


GABixlerReviews

USA Today bestselling author Aaron Paul Lazar is obsessed with writing. He's completed twenty-eight books to date, and has earned twenty literary book awards. He writes mysteries, suspense, love stories, and more. You'll usually find him writing his heart out in the early hours of the day - preferably in the dark, quiet hours when no one else is awake in his bustling household. Visit his website at www.lazarbooks.com to sign up for a free book and to learn about future deals.

GET YOUR FREE COPY OF DEVIL'S LAKE AT WWW.LAZARBOOKS.COM! 

Aaron Paul Lazar wasn't always a mystery writer. It wasn't until eight members of his family and friends died within five years that the urge to write became overwhelming. "When my father died, I lost it. I needed an outlet, and writing provided the kind of solace I couldn't find elsewhere." 

Lazar created the Gus LeGarde mystery series, with the founding novel, DOUBLE FORTÉ, a romantic winter mystery set in the Genesee Valley of upstate New York. Like Lazar's father, protagonist Gus LeGarde is a classical music professor. Gus, a grandfather, gardener, chef, and nature lover, plays Chopin etudes to feed his soul and thinks of himself as a "Renaissance man caught in the 21st century." There are twelve books to date in this series.

The creation of the series lent Lazar the comfort he sought, yet in the process, a new passion was unleashed. Obsessed with his parallel universe, he now lives, breathes, and dreams about his characters, and has written twelve LeGarde mysteries in addition to four other series.

One day while rototilling his garden, Lazar unearthed a green cat's eye marble, which prompted the paranormal mystery series featuring Sam Moore, retired country doctor and passionate gardener. The green marble, a powerful talisman, connects all three of the books in the series, whisking Sam back in time to uncover his brother's mysterious fate fifty years earlier. (THE DISAPPEARANCE OF BILLY MOORE, TERROR COMES KNOCKING, and FOR KEEPS)

Lazar's books feature breathless chase scenes, nasty villains, and taut suspense, but are also intensely human stories, replete with kids, dogs, horses, food, romance, and humor. The author calls them, "country mysteries," although reviewers have dubbed them "literary mysteries." 

"It seems as though every image ever impressed upon my brain finds its way into my work. Whether it's the light dancing through stained-glass windows in a Parisian chapel, curly slate-green lichen covering a boulder at the edge of a pond in Maine, or hoarfrost dangling from a cherry tree branch in mid-winter, these images burrow into my memory cells. In time they bubble back, persistently itching, until they are poured out on the page."

In 2009, Kodak laid him off after 28 years of service, and during the year he had off (before he landed in his job with KB America) he had time to explore and reconnect with his environment. Little did he know that several trips to the Adirondack Mountains would reawaken his passion for that part of the country. A new romantic mystery series was started entitled Tall Pines Mysteries: FOR THE BIRDS, ESSENTIALLY YOURS, SANCTUARY, and BETRAYAL.

In between all the novels, Lazar published three short writing guides based on his many years of writing advice blogs, entitled WRITE LIKE THE WIND, volumes 1-3. These are available in eBook and audio book formats.

In his twenty-first book, Lazar has jumped genre. THE SEACREST: a love story, now winner of many literary awards, is poised to capture hearts across the globe. Book 1 in the Paines Creek Beach novels (set on Cape Cod), THE SEACREST also launched a series, and is followed by THE SEACROFT and THE SEADOG. 

When the news was filled with stories about the girls captured for ten years by that monster in Cleveland (you know who he was...), Lazar was compelled to write a book to honor the women involved. Thus was born the Bittersweet Hollow romantic suspense series, featuring award-winning DEVIL'S LAKE, DEVIL'S CREEK, and DEVIL'S SPRING. A new spinoff is coming soon, entitled THE ASYLUM.

The author lives on a ridge overlooking the Genesee Valley in upstate New York with his wife, daughter Allison, two little grandsons, two dogs, and three cats. With a total of six grandkids now, he finds grandfathering to be one of the most precious and important times of life, and spends as much time as possible with Julian, Gordon, Isabella, Christopher, Luke, and Joey. 

Lazar has been featured in many magazines and newspapers and has given dozens of radio interviews over the years.