My 6th Biscuit McKee Mystery, Violet as an Amethyst, is available for pre-orders. The official release date is December 1st, but I’m willing to bet my publisher will be shipping books out before that. (You can scroll down to read the first page…)
Naturally, Biscuit’s husband Bob gets interested in keeping bees, and Biscuit envisions the hives nestled in the corners of their very private back yard. But then, there’s this inconveniently dead body…
Here’s what it says on the back of the book:
· There isn’t a clue as to who pushed librarian Biscuit McKee off the town dock into the raging Metoochie River or whether he will strike again.
· There isn’t a clue to the whereabouts of artist Charles Zapota, and his mother is getting frantic.
· There isn’t a clue about why Melissa Tarkington’s fiancé went to Atlanta for a mysterious meeting or why a lost dog suddenly latches onto Biscuit’s sister, Glaze.
· VIOLET AS AN AMETHYST continues the saga of small-town Martinsville, as Biscuit’s life is threatened by the deadly intent of one particular man.
Sneak Preview—the start of Violet as an Amethyst:
(Copyright 2011 by Fran Stewart)
It was a dark and stormy night, dammit, and I was stuck, gasping for air, desperate for warmth, wedged between two branches of a drowning pine tree as the rain-swollen Metoochie River tried its best to uproot the almost completely submerged tree and drown me. If it didn’t freeze me first.
I had no idea who had pushed me from the dock, but I knew I hadn’t simply slipped. A moment after I’d sensed I wasn’t the only one standing there watching the surge of the storm water, two big hands hit the middle of my back.
What on earth had I been thinking to take a walk at 2 a.m. when I could have stayed curled up next to Bob? Obviously I’d lost my mind, and now I was paying for it.
I prayed for a convenient lightning bolt to strike the man who’d pushed me, whoever he was. I prayed for dawn. I prayed for a friendly boater or a sudden river-drying drought. My only chance was to hang on and hope for rescue. I screamed for help again and again, but heard no answer above the roar of the river. Visions of Snoopy, pounding away at his typewriter on top of his red-roofed cartoon doghouse, careened around inside my muddled head. It was a dark and stormy night; it was a dark and stormy night. I couldn’t get beyond that first stupid sentence.
I’d been sound asleep, in the middle of a very satisfying dream, when Marmalade had padded up my leg, over the curve of my hip, and wiggled her way under my arm. Breathing is difficult with a cat against one’s nose, so I’d shifted onto my back. She shifted with me and placed her paw over my eyelid. It’s hard not to wake up when that happens.
Look outside the window.
I swear, in the middle of the night her purr sounds like a dump truck.
Someone is in the backyard beyond the fence.
I pushed her out of the way—gently, but firmly. “Let me sleep, Marmy,” I mumbled. Bob stirred, muttered something but didn’t seem to wake up, and settled back down. “Go ’way,” I said again as she balanced on my hip like Snoopy on his doghouse roof, and continued to nudge me with her paws and her head.
Come to the window. Come to the window now.
“Shh! Don’t wake up Bob.”
When she let out one of her gurgly yarps I gave in. “Awright, Marms.” I considered pulling the blanket over my head, but knew she’d never let me get away with it. “What’s going on? Did you find a mouse?” I slipped into my robe and stretched as she jumped down and bounded to the big window.
And so on . . .
I hope you’ll consider pre-ordering your copy at Journey of a Dream Press. Here’s the pre-order page: http://www.journeyofadream.com/violet.php. Your copy or copies will ship out as soon as the books are available.
BEEattitude for Day # 393:Blessed are those who read, for they shall learn much about their world through the eyes of others.