Sneak Peek (Another Novel on it's Way?!?)

Sneak Peek today--there possibly may be another novel on it's way...

There are many decisions to make in life, and this is an important one for me: 

Do I, or do I not post another novel?

Before I make up my mind, I'm treating everyone to a snapshot of my backyard last January after a beautiful blizzard. My cute little flamingos have flown away since then, which is a sad loss. I know I'll replace them, but how soon is the question. I'm hoping this environment they cheerfully endured--mountains of frozen fluff--will return soon, but I won't adopt a new flock until after the ground thaws in 2014.

So, onto the pressing question: should I post another novel?

Sure, why not?

I know you're hoping for another adventure with Jenn Washington, but that's not the one I'm going to post right away. 

Instead, I'll let you meet one of my favorite characters: Francesca.

So, here's the heads up so you know what you're getting into:

I'm LDS. That's short for being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, kind of a nickname. Also, we're called Mormons. And I'm a member who loves Jesus Christ, etc., so I'm about as mainstream as we get. That being said, this is LDS fiction. It centers around LDS characters. It's not preachy, if that's your concern, but it is human, if you're wondering about that too. Human meaning, people are people and no matter who you are, you have choices to make and consequences will follow. So, if you're not Mormon or LDS or don't know any Mormons or LDS, then you'll be introduced to us through my fiction, meaning, my own made up, conceived in my head, fictional story. If you're Mormon, it will flow as naturally as a Sunday morning. If you're not, and you're curious enough to read my novel, you'll find some terms make you scratch your head a little and say, "huh?" Don't worry, I'll help you out in advance:
Church: This is once a week on Sunday and it's a 3-hour block of 3 different meetings. Yep, we go every week! Sacrament meeting is followed by Sunday School, where youth boys and girls (ages 12 - 18) are in a scripture learning class together, then they split and boys and girls go to their own classes. Boys head to a priesthood class, and girls head off to young women's classes.
Mutual: Also called Young Men's and Young Women's. This is a weeknight activity for youth ages 12 - high school graduation. Sometimes the young men and young women join in activities together to serve, play, learn, etc., and sometimes they are with their own girl's or boy's group.
Seminary: this is a class held during the week day for youth ages 9th grade through graduation (that's 4 years) for learning the scriptures and gospel teachings. It covers the 4 main texts of LDS scripture: Old Testament, New Testament, Book or Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants. In Utah and some other areas where there are a ton of Mormons or LDS youth, some schools allow "release time" and students can take the class in a seminary building built close to the school campus. They are "released" from school and just walk across the parking lot, or street or whatever divides the school property from the seminary building where they take a class, and then they return to school. In areas where there is no "release time" option, most students take the class at a church building an hour (yes, 1 hour) before they go to school in the morning. So, if you figure out the timing for a class and traveling, you get the idea of how early that can be! (Some kids take home study courses because the option of going early isn't available.) In this book, the setting is Utah, so the seminary building is located adjacent to the high school.
Mission: This is what every young man is expected to serve for 2 full years at his own expense, and many young women serve for 18 months. Recently, a little over 1 year ago, the age requirement was lowered from serving at/after age 19 for young men to age 18 or high school graduation. For young women it lowered from age 21 to 19. That's a huge difference! At the time this novel was written the ages were 19 & 21. So, this is an "oldies" story now. (See, a good reason to post it!)
Standards: This is a huge category, but I'll just touch on a few: Dating after age 16 and not before is encouraged. No smoking. No drinking coffee, tea, or alcohol. No drug use. Modest clothing (skip skimpy, low cut, too tight, too short, nothing revealing, no vulgar pictures or sayings, no strappy tops for girls, etc.). No swearing. No stupidity. No Sex before marriage, in fact, keep the kissing down to basically zippo or only slightly more. Hand holding is okay. See, this is stuff the "world out there" considers 'Huh? You don't...?' (They often act as if they think teenage years should be: have fun, do anything, rebel, stir up trouble, don't let mom and dad know, etc.) We call the standards living straight, clean, pure and obedient.  Anyway, you've got the idea.

Okay, that's enough of that for now. The rest can be easily figured out as you read the book.

DETAILS: I posted my last novel one chapter at a time. This time around I'm planning on posting about 5 chapters or so at a time. Because I'm working with 2 'working copies,' it may take me a few days to get them ready. (Wish me luck and speed!) And with not one, but two holidays coming up, it may take me a bit of time to get this ball rolling. (Okay, I'm already rethinking my plan. I just checked and chapter 1 is 15 pages, thankfully double spaced. That is nothing like my last novel! And I'm dealing with 160,263 words in one draft and 44,586 in the other? Something is happening here... Hummm...) Like I said, wish me speed and happiness as I try figuring this out!

Come back if you're interested, because I'm about to introduce you to Francesca...and she is nothing like Jenn from Secrets at Midnight.

Hide - N - Seek

Hide - N - Seek

As a kid I loved those pictures where you have to find certain things. You know, like the "I Spy" books today, or "Where's Waldo." But as a kid it was generally find the ski pole (that looks kind of like a tree trunk) or the button (that looks like the center of a flower).

So here's the challenge: In the photo below, find the squash. 

Spaghetti squash, to be exact.

Keep looking.

Keep looking.

Keep looking!

Okay, give up? I liquified it with my immersion blender and poured it into a batch of bread. There's a little  more than 1/3 cup per loaf. And the taste and texture are amazing. 

See this little Grand? 

She's eating her veggies at the moment and enjoying it. 

Yes, I'm sneaky!

Life is Perfect, You Know!

Life is Perfect, you know!

Running:

I had the most awesome run yesterday. I chose my favorite 3 miles out, 3 miles back route. I walked the entire 3 miles out--and the weather was perfect. The fierce winds had abated and Mr. Sun controlled the skies again. It was incredible. And then I began my return segment. At the 1 mile from home mark I felt an endorphin high like none other I could remember. "This is the life! A perfect life!" my mind exclaimed. And it was. I had just run 2 miles home--2 miles! And had one more mile to go. And I did it because my body just couldn't walk anymore. So I had run. When I realized it--I was running, and running with ease, and the fact that my hubby might drive by that very spot at any moment on his way home from work, I resumed walking. It took tremendous effort. More self-control than imagined. My legs, lungs and heart were begging to continue running like little children who had spied a bag of candy just before dinner and couldn't stop begging and pleading and promising and whining. But guilty me ruled, so I walked. Walking, and getting my red face back to refreshing pink would mean avoiding a very long and angry lecture and my weak justifications in reply.

And then I woke up.

This was not the first time I dreamed about running. I've done it while awake and asleep. I seriously doubt it will be the last time, In fact, I hope not.

Writing:

I read blogs. Some are short, some longer. I've got a favorite "pretty me up" blog I follow, and then I often catch up on funny mom blogs (I can relate, although I'm "raising" Grands now, not my own little offspring). I read about organizing ups and downs and chicken farming, religion and other obscure topics. For entertainment. And education. And to laugh.

And I write my own blogs. This one began as running and writing, but I'm planning on expanding it. My other blog is private and has covered my ordinary, regular life. Since my running has stopped and writing took a vacation and might not return (wish I was still in Hawaii sometimes, or Europe, or Canada, or Mexico, or San Diego, or...) this blog may end up exposing the circles of my life--my silly side, the serious me, my put on an apron and cook up a storm side, and my camera happy snap a pic side.

For today, I'm sharing my perfect side:

 

My backyard doubles as a nature preserve. I feed all kinds of critters that migrate through, but only because I planted most of the salad bowl and didn't know what they didn't like back then. And since I got the bestest little point and click camera a little over a year ago, I've documented a large portion of my wild friends. Perfectly... Hey! Don't move so fast, beautiful, magnificent buck!

My adorable Grands have learned that when I whip out the camera it's time for perfect posing. They love to see themselves plastered all over the fridge. I take 10 times as many shots as most people. I just wish I could remember to take 20 times as many. So much for perfect again--and sticking this happy little guy on the fridge this week...

My little Grand is attached to his toys. Literally. There's always one hanging from his hand. Always! If anyone has this "Mousky" toy (it's a run on name for Mike and Wazousky) they know it has an annoying voice that makes snide comments. Just pull his leg and they begin. Dang, but being accidentally left outside through 3 rainstorms didn't kill his vocal chords!

This little Grand discovered the fine art of Dump & Run. But this time she didn't run, but climbed. "Help, help! Help me," she called from a wire shelf. My son and I came running to her aid and then stopped and laughed before we grabbed our cameras. Then we laughed and clicked and basically watched her figure out her own rescue. Yep, kids have got to learn the in's and out's of life's messes.

And finally, just to prove I have a wonderfully perfect life, here's a photo of the tasty filling for the tuna cheese swirls I whipped up for supper and planned to blog in mouth-watering full color. Hmm, the lighting is off. And I forgot to photograph the finished product. My husband renamed them Spinners. They were yummy and quickly consumed, so all was not lost.

That sums up a week of photos and success stories. 

And because Mousky was found, my Grand's eyes actually do open (I even taught him how to wink this week), the buck returned the next day (with his head behind the corner of the house this time as he nibbled on the last of the hollyhock stalks when the camera emerged), and my sweet Granddaughter helped sort a mountain of toys into boxes and bins, I guess my life is perfect. (Except I hit some key on accident and fatally killed my photo borders. Totally killed. I can't even put a colored line under them anymore. So sad...)

But that's okay. Life is still perfect, you know!

About the Author of SECRETS at MIDNIGHT

About the Author:

 

Leona Palmer Haag

Writing Stuff:

• I have no clue what the word succinct means, and I often prove it. 
• I wrote and illustrated my first novel at age 11. My soul critic gave it 2 thumbs down. I tried to revise the llama's tail, but couldn't fix the crayon marks. It never occurred to me that might not be the problem.
• I figured out what plot meant at age 13. I sure could have used the definition earlier and saved the poor llama.
• I had the worlds worst English teacher in 11th grade. She gave me D's and C-'s! Out of revenge I wrote a killer paper.
• I got an A+ on that killer paper. One of the only four papers which, in her own words, were worth reading. Which she did to the entire class, but not until after she'd yelled at us for a solid 20 minutes and made all of us feel like failures not only in her class, but in life. 
• (Teachers could get away with that kind of thing back when I was young.)
• I didn't have to rewrite my paper. Or any others. I knew I could write, and I did, rescuing my semester grade. 
• I sure wish I still had that paper.

Other Stuff:

• I'm married to Mr. Fix It who loves having me hand him projects
• I'm mom to 5 kids, and Grammie to 14 cute little Grands.
• I live in "My Happy Little Village"  which has no stop lights, bars, post office, library, and no more than 5 roads in and out of town.
• My Happy Little Village has foxes, coyotes, deer, elk, moose, skunks, bobcats and other wildlife, most of which I've seen or heard wandering through my yard.
• My cat fell victim to one of the above more fierce creatures. 
• I used to run--a favorite activity until my neck underwent spontaneous breakage. 
• My doctors called my "broken neck" degenerative vertebrae and halted my running career.
• I still love my genetic progenitors. 
• I hope my kids and Grands forgive me for passing my "lesser genes" along unintentionally.
• So, I don't run. Period.
• I am attempting to learn how to walk and love it. Good luck with that, I sarcastically and enthusiastically coach myself at regular intervals.

More other Stuff:

• I'm a firm believer in positive thinking/acting. 
• Therefore I have nearly 100 formal rejection letters and many informal ones: ie: "If you don't hear from us, assume correctly that we're not interested in your manuscript."
• I'm still a positive thinker/acter.
• I rely heavily on spell check.
• I rely heavily on my computer and my computer savvy kids.
• I know where my delete key is and I'm unashamed to use it.
• I bake bread and cookies, pizza and lasagna.
• I sew. 
• I unpick. I have a sewing unpicker tool and I'm not ashamed to use it.
• I love my family.
• I love my home.
• I love my car.
• My favorite color is green, especially in nature. Or money. Or both.
• I have a science degree from Weber State University.
• I've worked mostly in sales positions, and mostly sales centering on furniture.
• Oops, I've mostly worked as a seamstress: sewing, creating, designing and selling upholstered furniture. 
• No, I will not critique your sofa when I enter your house. But I may take a second look at your antique sideboard, but you may not notice that.
• I used to love painting the rooms in my house. I've retired from painting I keep telling myself, to no avail.
• I love flowers and trees. (Remember, I love green.)
• I hike, bike, boat--wait, some of those are now said in the past tense. I still can't turn my head enough to the side to assure safety or comfort on my mountain bike.
• I help my kids with their kids.
• I dislike messes, therefore, I clean up messes.
• I dislike noise, but I endure noise and I create noise.
• I like order. I'm never ashamed to have someone open my kitchen drawers.
• I love vacations: Beaches, mountains, prairies, cabins, luxury hotels, history places and all kinds of play places.
• I'm terrified of bears and mountain lions.
• I love birds.
• I love writing.
• I mostly write chick-lit, with a little romance and fun wit. Secrets at Midnight (shared in previous posts) was my first "cozy murder." I much prefer chick-lit without firearms.
• I'm a Mormon. "I know it. I live it. I love it."
• Some of my novels reflect my Mormon culture.
• I've written one fairy tale, and that's maybe my favorite of all he books I've written--ever!
• I've got a very rough first draft of historical fiction sitting around somewhere. It will take a lot of research and hard work--which means time--to polish it up. (My characters are a little lack-luster, mostly, and I've got to breath life into them.)
• Characters: I enjoy developing them as much and maybe more than anything else. That and providing a setting. I work the plot around those sometimes.
• I love using a thesaurus. And a dictionary. I don't know every word or what they mean, but I love words.
• I love paper. I hoard paper. But I'm not a hoarder, so I don't have a ton of it, despite my love affair. It's complicated...
• I've worked as a copy writer. So fun! (Yes, another dream job!) 
• I was accused of "painting a mustache on my baby" by a writer whose work I edited, because it was my job to make sure bad writing never made it past me.
• That baby looked nice after I "put on a mustache." It stayed. lucky little cutie!
• Moral of the story: Never yell at your editor and tell her off and then expect her to erase her mustache, especially if  you're writing about furniture and haven't got a clue what a "shelter magazine" is and you've just told your editor you couldn't find one in the library--and you looked! (Tee,hee,hee,hee!)
• I'm nice. Very, very nice.
• I never fired a copy writer under me. I wanted to fire someone else once (not a copy writer), but didn't.
• See, I'm nice.
• I love earrings. It was my huge possession of self control that prevented me from posting pictures of earrings as I posted my novel Secrets at Midnight.
• I like Chocolate. It used to be love, but since my neck surgery all bitter and sour tastes have been enhanced and you know, Chocolate is bitter and sour now. So sad!
• That's enough. You know me better than I know myself now.
• Please leave me feedback on Secrets at Midnight. I'd like to know if  you enjoyed the book and whether you'd like more of that type of work. I have written a sequel already, and yes, Jenn gets in over her pretty little head again. Her daughter is dragged along because--have you ever met a mom of a cute little toddler who leaves her beloved kid behind? I haven't, and if I did, I'd doubt the mom's devotion and her sanity.
• Thanks for dropping by. Let me know if you're interested in seeing more of my novels posted on my blog.

~~ Leona

 

My Novel: Chapter 65 (THE END)

Chapter 65

Sunshine and Daisies

Secrets at Midnight

Leona Palmer Haag

Chapter 65

Checking on Katie, Jenn found her sleeping with the teddy bear Matt and Monica had given her after they’d returned from their crazy adventure. It had her name embroidered on one paw, and $1,000,000 on the other. “I’d do it again, and pay twice that much—out of my own pocket—for her. And you,” Matt had explained. If Katie didn’t love it so much she’d throw the reminder away. Which reminded her—the kitchen trash needed hauling out.

Nick paid the babysitter—Linda Jo’s daughter—and walked her out to her car. When he returned Jenn nodded toward the kitchen trash. He took a hint and hefted the bag over his lean shoulder and headed out the back door where the handle easily worked because he’d replaced it.

Jenn surveyed the clean kitchen, checked to make sure the front room was perfect, then headed to her bedroom and flipped on a lamp. She pulled her nightie from the closet shelf and slipped into it. Turing, she found Nick leaning against the doorway watching her. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Katie’s sleeping—everything’s fine.” Seeing his face, her gut flip-flopped and she froze. “Something’s wrong.”

He shrugged and pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the hamper. As he reached for his sleep pants she grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He pulled her into his arms and his embrace tightened. “I saw the newspaper in the trashcan.”

Jenn had never thrown anything away separately or individually—until that stupid newspaper. All household trash collected in the kitchen trash until hauled out in one massive load. It never occurred to her that Nick would glance inside the can and notice something unusual. But then, wasn’t he trained to notice everything?

“The reporter got every detail,” she sarcastically said. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

He gently stroked her cheek. “The office provides therapy. There are support groups. I’ll ask for information about it.”

“I just wish I knew why my yard?” She sighed in frustration. “No support group can tell me why Adams killed his girlfriend and hid her behind my trash.”

Nick pressed a finger to her lips. “We may never know why. If he could talk, he’d probably lie. Sometimes—most of the time—we don’t get all the answer. Some mysteries remain mysteries. Real life is like that—full of spaces and gaps remain open no matter how hard we try to close them.”

“Someone has to know why he did it.”

“Someone probably does, and if we find them, we’ll know too.”

“Find him.”

Nick rocked her back and forth. “Baby, it’s simple only in the movies—every twist, plot, and turn is revealed before the final credits. For now we assume his girlfriend wasn’t involved—except romantically. Hopefully later we’ll learn more—maybe she witnessed something he wanted kept secret. In the meantime, don’t let it worry you.”

“What about Natalie’s fingernail?”

“Adams planted it—after receiving it from his connection—we assume.”

She shivered, fearing nothing had ended permanently. “Will we—you—be targeted again?” 

“Very unlikely.”

Pulling slightly away, Jenn said, “You have no idea how much courage it took to throw that paper away. I went in the middle of the day, taking Katie with me, in case you’re wondering. She’s kind of a little, helpless bodyguard, don’t you think?”

He smiled. “I’m proud of you. It’s tough doing hard things. You were smart to pick good moral support—someone trusted.”

“Yeah, a baby. As you can see, I’m working through this, and I’ll survive, but I never want anything even remotely similar happening again.”

He tenderly kissed her before scooping her off her feet and swinging her in a dizzying circle. He dumped her on the bed. “Baby, you’re awesome, and I promise you’ll never go through that experience again.”

“You do realize that because you really don’t sell life insurance, something similar might happen, don’t you?”

“Odds are against it. Now, Monica’s a different story. She’ll meet a handsome stranger in Columbia and Matt will rush off to save her. As for us, we live in Dallas where nothing threatens, except tornadoes.” He kissed her long and passionately.

When they parted Jenn traced a thin red scar on the side of Nick's neck with her fingertip—his only physical evidence from their ordeal. He closed his eyes during the caress. She nuzzled his evening beard and relishing the subtle scent of his cologne. “How much longer will I have you?”

His lips halted on her throat. “You’ll always have me, although I fly out on Tuesday. I promise I won’t be long.”

Jenn pushed away unwanted images: Katie grasped in her arms because that was the only way to save her, newspaper headlines containing her name, Matt showing up with a box loaded with weapons instead of tools, and Nick searching the help wanted section for a desk job. She grasped reality—Nick—in her arms.

End Chapter 65

Thank you for sharing this journey with me. Sorry about all the typos. If you'd like to know more about me and my other manuscripts, check out my next post.  ~~Leona 

My Novel: Chapter 64

Chapter 64

Every day comes to a close, and so does every novel. But the impact of a day may never end in a life, and the hidden messages of a novel may do the same. 

I hope I've given you more than a story.

Secrets at Midnight

Leona Palmer Haag

Chapter 64

Monica looked ravishing in a little black dress and sparkling diamond earrings dangling against her neck. Jenn always felt diluted next to her. “Jenn, ” Monica said. “I'm amazed you and Katie didn't fall to your deaths on that mountain—or scream loud enough to wake the dead.” She swirled her wine glass and smiled—taunting?

“Don't needle her,” Matt scolded.

Monica laughed. “She can’t invent punishment severe enough to scare me.” Then she sobered. “Thanks for saving my husband's life. Men think they’re heroes, but usually it's a woman who saves the bacon.”

Jenn laughed and lifted her wine glass. “To the men who bring home the bacon—and to the women who save it when all they want is to spend it.”

Nick joined in the toast, laughing, but beneath the table he grabbed Jenn’s knee before whispering in her ear, “Do you mind how I earn it?”

Lifting her glass again, Jenn said, “And here’s luck to Nick in his job hunt. May he soon be selling shoes or insurance.” The others laughed, but she alone sipped wine.

Matt lifted his ice water. “To our partnerships, friendships and marriages—may they continue.” Everyone lifted their glasses.

As Monica lowered her Merlot she turned to Matt. “Sweetheart, you’re missing out.”

“Not really,” he said, lifting his ice water higher. “It’s between me and God. I’m not incredible all on my own, so to keep my super powers, I pray and keep promises.”

“And I spend Sunday mornings alone,” Monica pouted.

In a different setting at another time Jenn might have called Matt a snob and self-righteous for mentioning religion and abandoning alcohol, but not tonight. The changes hinted the old, sane, capable, pre-Monica Matt was returning.

Monica said, “Sorry about bringing up shop-talk Jenn, but you might be interested in knowing Natalie is enjoying physical therapy and will fully  recover. She’ll never thank you personally, I’m sure, but she is grateful to you.”

“I’ll never give a drugged woman a loaded weapon again,” Jenn said.

Matt burst out laughing. “Sure you will. You’ve got more good gut-instinct than anyone I know. Follow that gut or brains or conscience or whatever it is that prompts you and things will always work out.”

Jenn pointed at the kid who had hauled her around in a wagon when little, and hauled her around the country when grown. “Next time—and there won’t be a next time, and don’t forget it—don’t try to follow your off-kilter gut if I’m in tow. No more dust-infested cabins—got that? Remember, I love electricity, hot baths and luxury—and having Nick nearby.”

Matt lifted his ice water. “To no more running and hiding.”

Everyone lifted their drinks and laughed. As glasses lowered, Matt said, “Thanks for the new car, Jenn.”

“How else could you keep up with Monica?”

“Hers is still faster, but she likes being chased,” he replied.

Conversation drifted from cars to basketball, leaving work—the office and everything it meant—behind. As they left the restaurant that evening Matt unconsciously rubbed his side where a chunk of metal from the blast had sliced him open. Visions returned to Jenn of Nick pushing her down next to him as he lay half dead near the hanger. She had pressed her palms firmly against his side to hold back a dark sticky tide that dripped between her fingers. Nick’ shirt was his only bandaging.

Like a phantom, Kevin Curtis had stood up, scaring her to death, before he stumbled a few feet and collapsed again. He curled up and died for good—although she didn’t know until later that he actually hadn’t. Natalie, another corpse that fateful night, had moaned. Bare-chested, Nick looked like a shadow of death as he bent over her and breathed life. When she revived again he rasped through smoke-scorched lungs, “The office is sending help.”

But Katie was worse off than them all. She sat in a puddle from an overflowing diaper and howled above the fire's roar with tears streaming down her cheeks in charcoal rivers. She witnessed death, destruction and fire because her parent’s couldn’t prevent it.

Monica’s voice returned Jenn to the present as they reached their cars and Nick held her door open for her. “Now that we’re back to our boring normal lives, should I teach you jungle survival, Jenn?”

Jenn shook her head. “It's my turn to torture you. Have you ever preserved peaches? They stain fake fingernails.”

Monica grimaced.

For once Jenn hit the bull’s eye dead on! “Be at my home on Friday at 9:00 am. The office might need you, but Marshall owes me a favor for not killing his entire staff, so I’ll cash in if you try to make excuses.”

Monica’s head slightly nodded. “I’ll take a break from work between 9:00 to 9:15.”

End Chapter 64

My Novel: Chapter 63

Chapter 63

Woods in Kentucky

Secrets at Midnight

Leona Palmer Haag

Chapter 63

The afternoon sun glared off the tarmac in shimmering waves. Jenn clutched her stomach hoping to prevent another revolt. With Katie propped on her hip she briskly walked, not knowing where she headed, but distancing herself from the overcrowded break room where one person after another was destined to die. She dug her cell phone from her purse, flipped it open and punched 9-1-1.

“What is your emergency?” a pleasant voice said.

“I—um—I—I’m not sure,” Jenn stammered. Remembering her gun had recently murdered someone jolted her words to a halt.

“Where are you?” the voice asked.

Glancing over her shoulder at the hangers, above at the brilliant blue sky, and forward toward the stark desert she whispered, “I'm not sure. Somewhere in Texas.”

“What is the emergency?”

The voice asking questions sounded calm and unreal, and her reply sounded contrived. “Someone was shot. His name is Adams. That's all I know about him. He's from Dallas—I think.”

“Someone has been shot?” the mechanical voice asked.

Jenn gulped. “Yes. He’s dead. There are other people, but....”

“Are you in danger?”

“Yes, my baby and I are....” Jenn pulled the phone away from the questions and flipped it shut. What could she say—she was walking away from a murder scene?

Within steps she quickened her pace, then began running. She reached the end of the hangers and found nothing but a heat-blasted desert. She darted around the corner and ran to the next corner and slowed. If she kept going she’d end up right where she’d started—at the break room—except on the outside wall. She halted and leaned against the metal hanger in the shade. Gasping for breath she slid to the parched dirt and huddled with Katie. Together they had a good cry, her daughter matching her sob for sob. She ignored return phone calls from the emergency dispatcher.

Afternoon heat intensified. Still, Jenn sat in the shade, not wishing to go anywhere but home and her easy life back when Nick sold insurance. Hours ticked by with only dust moving on tiny puffs of breeze. She expected Nick to round the corner searching for her, but he never bothered.

Katie grew restless. Jenn turned her loose and she played in the dirt. She tossed pebbles at the metal hanger, giggling when they pinged like musical notes. She eventually wearied and sat on her blanket and ate chips and cookies—depleting the diaper bags goody stash. She drank the last of the juice and started on the water bottle.

The sun lowered and shadows lengthened. Two planes landed and one took off. For a while Jenn wondered if she'd been abandoned—Nick and Matt had flown off without her. She despaired until she remembered Matt’s relentless tracking in the Montana forest. A driven man, he’d do the same among cacti.

Horrible visions rushed through Jenn’s head next—Nick dead and dragged into a hanger. Matt dead—Natalie doing the dragging. But she’d heard no gunshots, although maybe she’d mistaken the noise as Katie’s rock music.

Perhaps Kevin and Mueller were plotting how they’d find her—waiting until dark. Despite the heat, she shivered.

The sun sank. Nothing moved except a wasp and Katie. Darkness crept onto the desert and the stifling heat dissipated. A breeze tickled a nearby thorny shrub. Jenn sipped the last drops Katie had left in the water bottle. She set the empty plastic aside and thought about life and death—how much she wanted to live and how hard it had become.

A gunshot shattered the silence. Jenn gasped and clamped her hands over Katie’s ears. Something had been settled that would determine her future. When the silence following the blast expanded, she snatched Katie up, grabbed the dirty blanket she’d been sitting on and frantically looked for a hiding place.

Nothing.

Trapped between a long wall of airplane hangers and the desert, she had no escape except beneath a thorny shrub. She raced to it and slouched under the low-spreading branches. Almost able to reach out and touch the hangers, she jumped up like a scared jack rabbit and darted to a larger bush further out. Six more times she darted and settled before she cowered beneath a shrub with heavy foliage at least one hundred yards from the hangers. She pulled Katie tightly into her lap and added rattlesnakes and scorpions to her fear list.

As time passed and stars winked overhead, Jenn stopped planning how she’d reform Nick and switched to how she’d manage as a widow. With her husband’s death on her hands—she’d left him in a dangerous situation, after all—she’d never forgive herself. She was certain Curtis had sprung like a lion and had killed him, Natalie had reached the gun before Matt could respond, and Mueller—well, he was probably searching for her.

A plane took off, lights blinking red and white in the ink above her until they disappeared. Quiet returned. A breeze caught dry leaves and rustled them, then died. A cricket chirped. Hot, hungry and parched, she recalled feasting on scorched fish in a drenching downpour next to an icy lake.

An explosion rocked the earth. A blast wave smashed sand and pebbles and scorched heat against her, searing Jenn’s shoulders and arms as she protected Katie. The night lit up as if a thousand dragons belched fire. The horror before her ripped her soul. “Nick!” she screamed. “Nick!” She pulled Katie’s blanket over their heads, leaving only her eyes exposed to witness fire and death licking out where the hanger once stood. She wished it would hurry and devour them, hating thinking of the alternative: wandering aimlessly in the scorched desert until the pounding sun shriveled them into raw bones.

A red light blinked overhead—a beacon of hope—a rescue plane! Jenn rose and waved the blanket. It blinked once more, then exploded, showering doom. Sirens wailed, adding an unearthly scream to hell. From billowing smoke a shadow appeared. Jenn dropped to her knees and curled around Katie, hushing her screams against her shoulder. In the orange glow lighting the night there was no place dark enough for hiding. She pressed her body into the spines, seeking cover. “Oh God, please, don’t let my daughter die,” she whispered. “Not while I’m alive to witness it.” She hushed and waited for death to discover them.

“Jenn! Jenn!” The voice rose above the roar—Nick’s. Not long ago it would have brought relief, but now it stampeded with fear. His rough voice kept calling as he rushed past her, turning every direction, his feet stumbling as he searched. He sank to the earth and pounded the desert with his fists, calling her name.

Jenn slowly rose to meet salvation or doom. “Here,” she whispered, uncertain if she wanted to be found.  Desperate shadows twisting like the flames mirrored on Nick’s bare back. “I’m here,” she called louder.

Nick pulled himself up and stumbled on, and wouldn’t have seen her if she hadn’t shouted, “Nick!” and waved Katie’s blanket above her head. Dirt flipped into her eyes and clouded her vision, but she saw him turn and lunge toward her a moment before she was wrapped in his arms.

      Nick dragged her and Katie back to the hanger—toward death—to join a row of bodies strewn among twisted metal and blood near the flames.

End Chapter 63