Hello readers and fans,
With book #3 in the CUL8R Time Travel Mystery series [that’s see you later…] coming out in July we thought it important to share with you excerpts of earlier books. Today, we’ve updated our author website http://www.nightwriter93.com. The really big change the announcement of a new series in the fall, 2013. SCANDALS is a New Adult Romantic Suspense and after 60 pages of writing we can share with you that the millennials are amazing. A peak at that page is at
Now, to the first excerpt from book #1, OMG and the reason for the blog this week…
It took every ounce of her resolve, fueled by another look in the mirror at her chubby waistline for Kelly to force herself to do laps. She had been so tired, that she had slept through her macaw alarm, if he had shown up today. Aunt Jane was long gone by the time Kelly made it downstairs. The muscles in her shoulders and legs ached so much, it hurt to reach into the cabinet for a cereal bowl.
But, oddly, after about ten laps, the cool water and the exercise worked out the worst of her soreness. In spite of her late start, she was still the second to arrive at Scott’s lab shortly before 10 a.m. Figuring she was expected and after being there the two prior days in a row she went through the gate and opened the lab door rather than knocking.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Are you limping?” He studied her curiously.
“Austin’s Kon Tiki adventure nearly killed me.” Kelly grabbed and rubbed her left thigh. “I know why you stayed back.”
“Kon Tiki? Isn’t that a little dramatic even for a girl? How far did you go?”
“We started at the Point Park on the northern end and paddled to the Fishing Pier, then back.”
Scott looked impressed. “That’s about a mile each way. How was it?”
“The boarding wasn’t all that hard. I fell only twice, which I think was pretty good. It’s a lot different than surfing.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“I used muscles I didn’t know I had. But don’t say anything to Austin about that. I don’t want him to think it was too hardcore my first day out.”
“So, you’re going to go back?”
“Yeah, I enjoyed it. I’ve just got to get into better shape, I guess.”
The door opened and Austin entered. “Hey guys. Man, I was sore last night stocking shelves. I thought I was in shape to board a couple of miles. How about you, Kel?”
“I thought that football players were tough guys.” Kelly smiled and winked at Scott.
Austin gave her a suspicious look. “Are you telling me that you aren’t sore today?”
She laughed. “I’d be lying if I did. But it was a lot of fun. I want to do it again . . . just not today . . . or tomorrow.”
Scott had lost patience with the discussion. “When you old folks can stop talking about your aches and pains, I’m ready to get to work. I was at the antenna thing until midnight.”
“What did you do?” Austin asked.
“I redid the antenna on the roof of the shop and made it exactly the length needed to match the radio’s tuner.”
Kelly noticed Austin wasn’t following Scott’s explanation. “He meant the three to five kilohertz frequency band that Edison figured spirits communicated on,” she tried to clarify, although she only knew the facts, not the science behind them.
Scott looked at Kelly and raised his eyebrows and nodded. “That’s right. I think we’re all set. The tubes are hot.”
“I think Kelly should do the talking,” Austin commented. “That girl or whatever she was seemed to respond well to her.”
“Okay.” Kelly sat down near the microphone.
As the Spirit Radio tubes glowed red, Kelly could feel the heat radiate from the vacuum tubes. Just like before, the static and whistles and scores of voices began to fade in and out as conversations began and ended mid-sentence. It was like walking through Grand Central Station at rush hour and trying to pick up on a single voice from the crowd.
Kelly depressed the microphone button. “Wendy . . . Wendy can you hear me? This is Kelly, Wendy, are you there?” She released the button.
Austin, Scott and Kelly waited patiently for Wendy to answer back. Kelly tried again and again. Austin began to pace around the small room and Scott checked and double-checked his antenna connections.
Suddenly a voice separated from the rest. “Kelly . . . Kelly?” The voice faded, then surged again. “Kelly . . . this is Wendy . . . I’m sorry . . .” Her voice was overtaken by a younger man’s voice who sounded as if he was crying and apologizing for something.
“Is there anything you can do, Scott?” Austin asked.
“Kelly, ask her where she lived and when,” Scott prompted.
“Wendy, are you dead?” Kelly asked, needing to have some sort of conformation. She still wasn’t sure she believed this whole talking to the dead premise.
“I died in . . . 66.” The static swelled, crackling from the speakers. Wendy’s voice pushed its way through, “. . . South Beach . . .”
“Wendy, was that in Fort Myers?”
More voices, then Wendy’s surged, stronger than ever. “. . . I couldn’t graduate . . . I thought he loved . . .” Wendy’s voice fades.
“Was that South Beach High in Fort Myers? Did you live here? Wendy . . . please answer me!” Kelly let her head fall against her hand, exhausted emotionally and physically.
A burst of static and the voices ebbed. Wendy’s voice came forward. “South Beach . . . . Fort Myers . . . help me.”
In unison Scott, Austin and Kelly turned and faced each another. Their eyes were wide and mirrored their shock and confusion.
“Is it possible?” Kelly asked. “How can we check this out?”
Austin threw his hands up in exasperation. “It could be 1966 or 1866 or 1766. Or that might have been some sort of address. Where do we start?”
“It’s probably not 1866 or earlier because Fort Myers wasn’t established until around 1886. The original South Beach High School was built in 1926. All grades from kindergarten through high school were all in the same building. They separated into separate campuses in 1959, so it has to be 1966.”
Austin and Kelly stared at Scott. “How do you know all that stuff?” Austin asked incredulously.
Scott didn’t appear to hear the question. He was deep in thought and trying to mull through the mystery. “If we could get a whole name, we could look it up on the internet.” Suddenly, his expression brightened. “1966, South Beach High? Kelly, weren’t there some old yearbooks in your garage? Your grandmother would have been about that age.”
“This is sick,” Austin said with growing excitement. Even he was beginning to buy in to the possibility that they had been talking to a dead girl.
Like ants to sugar Scott and Austin followed Kelly as they paraded out of Scott’s lab, down the drive, across Aunt Jane’s grass and to the garage doors. Her aunt had given her the combination to the keypad outside, and she punched in the code. They waited anxiously as the door slowly rose in front of them.
Scott walked straight to the exact row and box holding the South Beach yearbooks. “It’s the third one from the top in that stack.”
“Mind like a steel trap,” Austin muttered, but he was clearly impressed with his friend.
Austin ignored his sore muscles as he removed the top two boxes and set them aside. He picked up the third box and placed it on the floor where Kelly had made a space. They all three crowded around as Kelly opened the lid off the storage box.
“1964 . . . 1965 . . . here it is, 1966.” She handed one of the earlier ones to Austin and the other one to Scott, and she took the one from 1966. They unfolded three lawn chairs, sat down and started the tedious task of looking through every class for someone named Wendy.
“I found her,” Kelly exclaimed. “Look, here’s a whole page in memoriam to a Wendy Summers.”
Austin and Scott leaned over to see the page.
“It doesn’t say why she died,” Scott noted.
“She was hot,” Austin said. Kelly and Scott frowned at him. He picked up his yearbook and started looking for her in it.
Kelly flipped to the appendix in the back of the book and looked down the columns of names for Wendy Summers’ name. “She was pretty active in school. She’s on five other pages.” Kelly searched for the pages listed. “Cheerleader.” A couple pages forward. “Homecoming queen.” Kelly found the third page. “President of the drama club.” She found the fourth page. “Debate team.” Kelly leafed through to where her senior picture was. “And her senior picture.”
“She was on the homecoming court when she was a sophomore,” Scott said as he pointed to a picture of a smiling young woman being presented with a bouquet on the football field at half time.”
“She was junior prom queen in May, 1966,” Austin said. “That means she died in the fall of her senior year.”
Kelly had turned back to the memoriam page and read aloud, “In Memoriam, Wendy Summers, 1949 to 1966. We will never forget her life and the joy she brought to all of us every day. She will remain in our thoughts and prayers forever.”
They sat there in silence. The warm South Florida sun now angled into the garage and they were all lost in their own thoughts.
“Don’t you wonder why she died so young? What happened? Why did she keep asking for help and saying she didn’t do it?” Kelly asked.
Check back and an excerpt to book #2, BRB [Be right back] will be up…and look for BION [Believe It Or Not] in July.