Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet? ~ L.M. Montgomery
Or Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life. Some of you may remember this mantra of the 60's. I painted it across the dashboard of our Volkswagen bus. But that's another lifetime and another story. Although no one is entirely sure, it is widely believed Charles Dederich who ran a drug rehab center said it. Whoever coined it, I still live by it to this day.
And that's a good thing since the release of my latest book had me reeling with the timing. Normally when I release a book I have a two month plan and schedule for getting the word out and promo. Not so with Southwest of Love and Murder, book two in my Love and Murder Series which released on January 7th. I received notice of the release date days before Thanksgiving, in the middle of taking care of a very sick daughter-in-law and my granddaughter, and planting garlic on the farm. In the midst of the holiday season and worrying about my daughter-in-law, not to mention the late planting of the garlic, there was no way to get a promo plan.
I had to take a deep breath and keep in mind this book will be out in the world for a long time. Release day is not the first and only day. So, not only for my life but for the book's life, today is the first day for the rest of our life!
Mystery writer, Phoebe Anderson, owes her success to killing her first husband on paper seventeen years earlier. Now, someone has actually done it. When she decides to take a few days away on the ranch of her best friend’s brother-in-law, she doesn’t expect romance to find her...or murder to follow her.
Mason Meadowlark is happy with his wild cowboy ways, avoiding love since the death of his baby and the end of his marriage twenty years ago. When Phoebe shows up, he fights to control his emotions, but soon wonders if she just might be worth the risk of opening his heart again.
With an obsessed fan close on her heels, Phoebe is thrown into her own murder mystery…and the next target on his list is Mason.
Phoebe shuddered and stilled.
Like the aftershocks of an earthquake, trembling overtook her body. Her knees wobbled, but Mason caught her before she collapsed.
“What’s wrong?” He hugged her briefly then brought his face even with hers. “Phoebe, tell me. Why are you shaking? What’s happened?”
“Oh my God, Mason.” She spread her hands on his chest and glanced back at the bathroom. “Tell someone to call an ambulance. Hurry!”
He took a step toward the ladies’ room, but she grabbed his shirtfront. “No!” She peered around him and shouted. “Someone call nine one one.”
Mason touched his pocket. “My cell’s in the truck.” He grabbed the shoulder of a male customer, the closest person to them. “You got a cell on you?”
The man nodded and pulled a phone from his pocket.
“Call nine one one right now. There’s been…” His face questioned her.
“Someone’s badly hurt in the bathroom. Oh hell, hurry!” She thumped her palms against his chest.
The man pulled out his cell as he raced into the ladies’ room.
Phoebe wrapped her arms around Mason, tipped her chin upward, and found the words. “It’s that
waitress, Mason. Carla.”
His expression went blank, from concern for her to no comprehension.
“There’s so much blood.” She stifled a gag, the sweet, copper penny reek still heavy in her nostrils. “Her throat.” A shudder rippled the length of her body. “I think she’s dead.”
Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.
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She blogs on the 9th and 24th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com
She blogs about prairie life and writing at http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/