Maria Gonzalez: Excerpt

All of a sudden, a big shadow loomed over the love-making couple. Maria opened her eyes wide, and when she saw the painted face and long black hair above her, she screamed in terror. It was an Indian, dressed in short white tunic, showing the reddish-brown of his skin, holding a dangerously looking knife!

Miguel needed a moment to come to reality. His wife’s anxious screaming urged him into action. He quickly got to his feet and made a threatening gesture towards the Indian.

He did not have a chance to do anything else. In a fluid movement, the Indian plunged the sharp knife into his breast, killing him almost instantly. He then turned to Maria, the dripping knife in hand and grabbed her by the hair.

She screamed even louder and struggled against his grip. Her loose hair swirled about in flashes of gold. To her surprise, the Indian loosened her as suddenly as he had grabbed her. He even stepped back a couple of paces and shouted some words in a language she did not comprehend.

Other Indians appeared in the tent’s entrance. One of them was holding a torch. The man who had killed Miguel took it and approached her a second time. When the light of the raised torch fell over her and disclosed her light hair and blue eyes, the Indians looked awe-struck. Hesitatingly, one of them reached out and touched her hair, uttering more strange words. The intensity of his look was more than frightening.

After a while they started to whisper in hushed tones accompanied by broad gestures. They seemed to come to some agreement, because some time later their leader beckoned one of his men to fetch a cape and he handed it to Maria. All of this time, she had not risked opening her mouth in fear of doing something the Indians would take offence to. Apparently they had never seen blond hair. Would they spare her life because of it? She almost dared to hope so. At last she spoke.

"What are you going to do with me?" she demanded. They only gave her a blank stare and shrugged.

She was escorted outside where the success of their ambush was evident. The soldiers of the company had all been slain. Some had their throats cut, others had severed heads or limbs. The stench of blood filled the air with a coppery scent. She had to suppress a feeling of nausea and quickly closed her eyes.

She only felt how she was lifted upon a horse. A horse? Why had they been spared? A hand prodded the back of her horse and it went into a trot.

When they were well away from the camp, she dared to open her eyes again. At least there was no more carnage now. She tried, as best as she could, to block out everything that had just happened in the camp. She could not yet bear to think about Miguel’s death and what this would mean to her. Mourning would have to come later, when they would be brought back to safety. Surely, the soldiers would look for them…

She concentrated on memorizing their route through the rain forest. It appeared to her they were heading north, which was the best she could do. When she looked around, she saw that their party consisted of about fifteen warriors and six unsaddled horses. Then she discovered a dark form astride yet another horse.

"Who’s there?" she whispered.

"It is I, Padre José" a soft voice answered.

"Thank God!"

"How are you doing, my dear?" the padre asked, his voice full of compassion. She felt a wave of deep pain when she thought of her loss, and impatiently wiped away the tears that suddenly appeared. She did not want to show weakness in front of the Aztecs.

The guard who rode next to the padre gave him a push. Apparently they did not like them talking. He said something they did not understand, but obviously meant: "Keep quiet!"

No more time for further thoughts. The band of Indians started its way into the depths of the forest and she had to follow. Deeper and deeper they disappeared into the forest.

The Locket: Excerpt

Read an excerpt from The Locket.

"You have to marry him." The captain’s wife stood on the narrow stairway and blocked the path from Ariel’s bedroom to the downstairs parlor.

"I can’t." Ariel didn’t want to tell the sweet, interfering lady why. But she could not marry Misha Smith. She just couldn’t. After careful deliberation she realized there was no way she could let Misha sacrifice himself because of a shared mistake. Misha didn’t love her or desire her. He was simply doing the honorable thing in offering his hand.

"I won’t change my mind." Guilt consumed her. How on earth would she break the news to Misha when she’d already told him yes?

"Don’t be stupid. You have to agree to his proposal. Have you heard the talk in town?" Helen ground her hands together, her kindly words making Ariel shudder. "Of course you have. They’ve called you every horrible name they can think of. Mrs. Fernridge even suggested tar and feathers."

"It won’t come to tar and feathers and you know it. I’ll stay inside and the gossip will blow over. In a few weeks time, no one will remember my night in the cave with Misha Smith." She prayed they wouldn’t.

"Not this time. You know how spiteful the women can be. The first time one of their husbands comes here for a good meal, as they do often enough, well--mark my words there will be trouble. The only remedy is marriage. I know he asked and you told him ‘yes.’ Now you’re turning him down? Why?"

Ariel wiped her hands on the cotton apron around her waist. "I don’t love him. He doesn’t love me." Her chin went up. Pride would be her downfall. "What kind of marriage would that be?"

"Love? Love will come. Give the relationship a chance. I daresay, I didn’t love the captain at first, but now my life would be meaningless without him. If you wait until you find love first or it finds you, you’ll go to your grave an old maid."

Helen’s prophecy might surely come true. Ariel stirred the batter harder, whipping it until her arm ached. Nothing would make her change her mind, the alternative worse than the remedy. Yet she didn’t want to become an old maid. She wanted children to care for and a husband to love.

It would be so easy to change her mind and take the course everyone expected of her.

The heavy door swung open and landed on the opposite wall with a resounding crack.

Ariel jerked in response and Helen uttered a helpless, "Oh, my!" Her pipe falling from her mouth.

"You told me, yes.’" Misha’s harsh words shot straight to Ariel’s backbone and slithered in an arc of guilt to her heart.

"I know."

He’d entered the house, walking deliberately to the kitchen, and she’d known he’d heard more than she wanted him to. She’d wanted to think of some way to tell him without forcing a confrontation. Now she wouldn’t have time for that luxury.

"You think I’d let you change your mind?"

"I made a mistake." Ariel slowly turned, her hand resting at her throat as if somehow the gesture would ease her ragged breath.

He flashed strong white teeth but it wasn’t a smile she saw. She saw anger and stubborn determination. Everything Misha did, he did with a fierce pride and an unwavering purpose.

"No, the blunder was mine. I should have made sure you had no choices. I’ll take care of that one small problem tonight," he said, his meaning implicit

Healthy Homicide by C.L. Kraemer

Healthy Homicide
By
C.L. Kraemer


Putting together a suspense story is different than writing a romance, science fiction or fantasy book. The author can include romance or fantasy in the story, but the driving factor of the book should be the suspense.

It takes time to learn how to keep the readers involved. In a mystery, the goal is to keep the killer’s identity a secret until the last revealing chapter of the book. Suspense stories are different in that the reader may know who committed the murder, but the knowledge the murderer is still on the loose makes the reader race through the pages to find out when or if the culprit gets caught and put in jail.

If I’ve correctly done my story, weaving the almost-caughts in with the get-aways, my readers will clutch the pages of the book jumping at outside sounds. I’m still practicing my art and hope I get better with each novel.

Check out Healthy Homicide on the RoguePhoenixPress website.

Chapter Three

Barrel Springs Day Spa

Alex Taylor sat in his styling chair flipping a pair of scissors round and round his finger as Sal Raines paced the salon floor.

"What is taking so long? I’m losing business every minute they keep us closed down. If this makes the paper, it could kill our business. I can’t afford to drive down below everyday. If I’d wanted to work down there, I’d have taken up the offer my father made. He was going to build a salon for me so I could stay close to the family and…"

Alex slapped the scissors on the counter. "…and let you live in his house in Brentwood and introduce all his movie contacts to your business, blah, blah, blah. Sal, we’ve heard this a dozen times. Either stay or go. Just quit whining."

Blade Mossman pulled in a deep, cleansing breath and opened his eyes to the bickering of his two co-workers.

"It will take as long as it takes. Unless you feel the need to exercise, Sal, pacing won’t make things move faster. And Alex, stop taunting Sal. All of our nerves are reaching the breaking point. As far as the paper goes, Sal, having our name attached to a death will either kill our clientele, no pun intended, or keep us so busy we won’t have any personal time. Only the next few days will tell."

Leaning his styling chair to the reclining position he closed his eyes, turned his hands palms up, touching the thumb and second fingers together and inhaled deeply.

Sal rolled his eyes and continued to pace. His second turn around the salon brought him crashing into a blonde, tall, well-dressed Detective Tabitha Jones.

"I-I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going."

She held up a slender hand. "It’s all right. I’m Detective Jones and I’m here to interview each of you. Once we have your statements, we’ll be taking fingerprints to rule you out, and DNA samples, also to rule you out, unless anyone has an objection." She raised a perfect eyebrow.

Sal and Alex shook their heads. When she got no response from the third reclined figure, the Detective walked to the chair and lightly touched the figure’s arm.

"Sir?"

Blade woke with a start. "Sorry. Meditating." He cleared his throat and adjusted the seat to an upright position. "What’d I miss?" He blinked the thick eyelashes surrounding his deep cocoa colored eyes.

Detective Jones reiterated what she’d told the other stylists.

"Now," she pointed at Alex, "Let’s start with you."

An hour later, Detective Jones had gone through shampoos, cuts, perms, colorings, appointment settings, styling tips, and local gossip with Alex and Sal. "What--no manicures?"

Both men pulled themselves to their full height. Sal spoke.

"Lady, we’re all professional hair stylists and straight. I have a wife and four kids, and Alex here has kids and grandkids. This job pays me well enough to provide for my family while living up on the hill, and I don’t have to look at dead bodies. Well, except for Ida Musselman; however, for what she tips I’ll make an exception. I didn’t judge you working in a man’s job, did I?"

Opening her mouth to respond, Detective Jones stopped when Seleste Monroe, CSI kit in hand, entered the salon.

"Good. Seleste, would you fingerprint and take DNA samples of these two gentlemen while I finish up my interviews with Blade Mossman?"

Seleste placed her case on the counter and opened the top. She unpacked the items she would need and placed everything in organized succession. She motioned Alex over and began by placing his fingers on a square Lucite pad, one at a time, and allowing her laptop attachment to scan the ridges.

Detective Jones stood in front of Blade, pad and pencil in hand.

"Mr. Mossman. Please go over your whereabouts for the day with me."

Blade leaned against the arm of the salon chair muscles rippling under the spa issued polo shirt. "What? No tape recorder?"

"No, Mr. Mossman. Not that it has anything to do with my questioning, but I have a photo and audiographic memory as well as being able to take shorthand at 130 words per minute. Now, if you don’t mind, may we continue? Your activities today."

"Wow. 130 words per minute. I didn’t think anybody took shorthand anymore."

"I learned in high school and found it very handy during college and the police academy. Again, Mr. Mossman. Your activities."

"Well, as you can see," Blade dismounted the chair, pulled his appointment book from the back of the counter to him and opened the page to the current day, "I was booked from the moment we opened at 8:00 a.m. My last appointment was with Vonnie Spencer. She asked if I would escort her to her Vitamin Verandah session. She’s a little skittish about the treatments and says--said--my presence soothes her. When I left her at the door of her treatment room, she was very much alive."

"So what did you do when you came back?" Detective Jones looked up from under her blonde lashes.

"I took a break. I needed to refocus my energy. I went into the Japanese Zen garden located in the center of the spa and meditated." Blade walked around the styling chair and sat.

Detective Jones watched the darkly handsome face. She noted the thin fingers of a beard contoured to emphasize the profile of a strong jaw, mustache close to the lip, and a short cropped hairstyle exuding testosterone. She detected the hint of a smile touching his lips.

"A break that took an hour? Weren’t your other clients angry when you didn’t show for their appointments?"

Seleste took the long swab and swished the inside of Sal’s mouth. She broke off the end then placed it into a small vial which she capped and set inside her kit. She nodded at Detective Jones.

"I figured the guys would page me. I loose track of time when I’m meditating. That’s how it’s supposed to be done." Blade graced the detective with a flash of his perfect smile.

Sal ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth trying to get the cotton taste to leave.

"Blade, you came back inside for about twenty minutes, remember? You were getting ready for your appointment with that singer, oh, what’s her name? It’s the new one who won last year’s American Idol?" Sal shook his head.

"Marissa Entemann," Alex washed his hands again in the sink at the back of the room.

"Yeah, that’s it. She was supposed to come in today for her first appointment." Sal opened his bottled water and slugged down a gulp.

"Ah, that’s right. I was preparing my station. We discussed adding blonde highlights to her hair when I got a phone call from her agent. The studio owner pushed her recording session forward and they had to cancel. He wants to get her on tape before her recent fame cools. So I’m doing her hair tonight, at her home."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Firing offense."

Blade turned and fixed a cold eye on him. "I’ll take my chances. If she likes what I do, maybe it’ll be my ticket out of here."

"Okay, Mr. Mossman. Seleste is going to take your fingerprints and a saliva sample now. That will conclude our business here. After that it’s up to Ms. Palmer." The detective walked out the doors of the salon scribbling in her notebook.

After the CSI detective documented everyone’s fingerprints and took DNA swabs, she closed her kit and followed Detective Jones out the door. Blade moved expeditiously to clear his area. He started toward the door, briefcase in hand.

Sal cleared his throat. "We haven’t been given the all clear yet."

He stopped and turned, measuring his next movements carefully.

Alex watched the knuckles of Blade’s hand whiten as he grasped the briefcase. Not wanting to be involved in an argument, he slipped into the salon’s bathroom.

"Maybe you need to be told what to do and when to do it, but I pride myself on having a mind of my own. The police department will close the spa, count on it. They’ll spend the next twelve to twenty hours dusting for fingerprints, spraying for blood traces, and looking for all those things they do on the TV programs. This spa is finished for the day and so am I. You got a problem with that?"

Sal watched the muscle in Blade’s jaw twitch with each word he pushed through clenched teeth.

"No. But I know Marissa’s agent didn’t call you." He’d moved from his workstation and stood in the center of the salon, feet apart, hands clenching and unclenching.

Blade snorted. "Don’t make me laugh, Sal. You know better than to try to take me on. I won’t fight but if you try, my martial art reflexes will put you in a world of hurt. What makes you so sure my phone call wasn’t with Marissa’s agent?"

"Because I heard you repeat, ‘same time, same place’. You’ve just met Marissa Entemann’s agent. You couldn’t be meeting her again. What’s going on, Blade?" Sal had relaxed his stance.

"None of your business. I’m leaving now. Stay out of my way. Just…stay out of my way."

Blade turned and strode out the door. He made a quick right and went down a corridor constructed for salon guests who needed a way to escape the eye of the public. Using his key, he slid out the back without setting off the alarm. Two quick steps and he, and his black Cadillac, were leaving the parking lot. He pushed the button on the steering wheel.

"Dial West Palmdale Spa."

"West Palmdale Rejuvenation Clinic and Fitness Center. This is Elise, how may I direct your call?"

"Paige Anderson."

"I’m sorry, but Ms. Anderson is unavailable for the next two hours. May I take a message?"

Blade swore under his breath. "Yes. Tell her to call Bl--Paul Mossman. It’s a matter of life and death."

"Yes sir. Does she have your number?"

"Yes. Phone off."

Blade turned into the driveway of his home, allowing the garage door to fully open before he guided the Cadillac inside. He sat in the car staring at the wall. His job was beginning to become--complicated. Now, a loose end; a noisy loose end. Sighing deeply, he pushed the button to close the garage door and went into the house. Food first; new plan later.