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Listed below is the latest excerpt from my romance/mystery novel in the works. I'll let you know when it is sold to a publisher and when it will available for sale in bookstores.
Also, check out the "New Books" section for exclusive excerpts from upcoming fiction and non-fiction works.
New excerpt from Love Thy Neighbor (revised 7/23):
Chapter 1 --
“Deirdre Morgan?” asked the middle-aged policeman as Deirdre opened the front door of her two-story, colonial brick home. His younger partner stood beside him. The morning sun beamed behind them, caused her to squint and blocked her from a full view of their faces – but she had become all too familiar with the uniform during the past year.
“What oddball stunt has my neighbor dragged me into now?” she asked.
“Do you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?” proposed the older officer with dusty brown mustache, dusty brown hair and warm brown eyes.
“Come on in. I’ve got a few minutes.” Deirdre had an important appointment to keep this morning with an attorney regarding a witness statement for her neighbor Letty whose award-winning gardenias had been mowed over for the third year in a row by another neighbor’s negligent landscapers.
Deirdre had long grown tired of the petty legal issues that residents in this affluent neighborhood dragged her into. Had it not been for Letty’s kindness during her mother’s illness and subsequent death, she would not have volunteered what she witnessed. But, Letty’s “gardenia babies” as she referred to them, were important to her. Sadly, almost nearly as important as Deirdre’s mother was to her. Still Deirdre was repulsed by the way these affluent folks spent their days – and time, and how they called lawyers to settle the slightest little issues.
Deirdre opened the door to let the officers in. The uniform’s status, she realized after last night’s ordeal, only deserved respect if the person wearing it was respectable. After what she witnessed last night, she had had just about enough of authority figures and those viewed as do-gooders in the public eye.
“Not working today?” the older officer interrupted her thoughts as Deirdre motioned for the officers to sit at the mahogany, sleek-lined, kitchen table.
“I’m taking care of some legal business this morning,” she responded. “You remember, the decapitation of my neighbor Letty’s award-winning gardenias.”
“Oh yes, that,” he responded and smiled. The officer, who had patrolled this neighborhood for years, knew it – and Letty’s gardenias -- well.
Deirdre sensed the older officer’s slight nervousness as he curtly tapped his foot on the forest green oriental rug that covered Deirdre’s blonde (or bamboo) hardwood floors.
Deirdre had given herself 20 minutes to reach downtown San Antonio, where her lawyers’ offices were. She had exactly 15 minutes to spend with these officers. She stretched her slender fingers through her dusty blonde hair, pushing back the bangs and leaned back in her sleek-lined mahogany chair with her arms resting on the slight beveled inlay of the armrests.
“We’re not going to take much of your time, Ms. Morgan” he emphasized the Ms. “We’re here on another investigation regarding your neighbor at 10675 Kensington Avenue.” The older officer stopped suddenly to glance at his partner. “Did you notice anything or anyone strange in the neighborhood?”
“If this is about someone parked in front of my neighbor’s house again, I’d rather you not waste my time,” she said. “You and I and the homeowner association’s lawyers know that the street is public domain and anyone can park on it.” Deirdre leaned forward in her chair, clasped her hands and rested them on the table -- ready to address this issue and put it to its final rest.
“Well, Ms. Morgan…,” the younger officer interrupted this time. “it’s not about anything like that.”
“We wouldn’t waste your time with something petty like that,” the older officer continued. “You see Ms. Morgan,” he addressed her with all the warmth that Walter Cronkite used in an opening news broadcast. He used the same slightly tilted head and eye-to-eye contact. “Your next-door neighbor, Jimmy Lee Hayden, was found dead in his home, some time between 10 p.m. last night and 2 a.m. this morning. We believe it was a homicide. So, we’re questioning all of the neighbors, to find it if they saw or heard anything suspicious.”
“I can’t believe it,” Deirdre dropped back into her chair and sat with her arms resting on the armrests. “I just can’t believe it,” she said. “Who? How?” She alternated her gaze from one officer to the other, searching their faces for any non-verbal clues.
“We thought you might help us. We knew that you and your neighbor had some well,” he cleared his throat, “incidents in the past and that there was some animosity between you and Mr. Hayden …”
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. It made Deirdre jump.
“Who could that be?” she asked aloud as she quickly jumped to her feet and headed toward the door.
“Deirdre Morgan,” his voice was strong matching his well-cut, muscular, 6-foot frame. His deep brown eyes reminded her of a vat of dark chocolate, sweet enough to tempt one to jump in, but dangerous and deceptive. His wavy black hair was so dark that with the reflection of the sunlight beaming in from her doorway, it looked as if it were highlighted with a midnight blue tint.
He was flashing his badge in front of her “May I come in? I see that some of my officers are here.”
“Yes, of course,” she gathered her thoughts as she motioned for him to enter. He
headed toward the two officers hoping she hadn’t noticed his slight pause when her near-
emerald green eyes met his, as he walked past her catching the slightest whiff of the
sophisticated scent of her perfume and noticed how the sunlight made her soft, dusty blonde
hair glisten.
“Good morning Officer Beaumont?” the older officer stood up as he addressed Stuart Beaumont, the head homicide detective with the San Antonio Police Department. Stuart motioned for the officer to remain seated. He kept his voice low as he shared some notes and a brief conversation with the officer. As he closed his notebook, Stuart noticed the photo, which was neatly framed and hanging on the wall behind the table where the officers had been seated. The photo displayed Deirdre Morgan posing with 9th Degree BlackBelt, Grand Master Kim Wok Chiu. A well-known Grand Master on the Tae Kwon Do circuit, Chiu had schools – or “Do Jangs” as referred to on the TKD circuit -- throughout the nation, but he called San Antonio home.
In the photo, Deirdre beamed as she smiled – her petite frame nearly enveloped in her Tae Kwon Do uniform, which the Koreans referred to as a “Do Bak.” She was wearing a Black Belt with one yellow stripe, Stuart noted. He would jot that down in his notebook later. He didn’t want to seem obvious right now. There was too much at stake.
He turned to walk back towards the door.
“Is there any more information about my neighbor’s death?” Deirde asked Detective Beaumont as he started towards her and the front door.
“No, Ms. Morgan,” Just what these officers told you this morning, that’s all we know.” Stuart noticed the disappointment in her eyes.
She perked up “Has the time of death been determine…?”
“That’s classified information right now. And, really it’s too early to tell. As you know, tests have to be done.” Without allowing her to comment, Stuart continued. “Ms. Morgan, I’m just curious. How would you describe your neighbor?” he asked.
“Dead, white, male,” she said. The officers guffawed from their seats at the table.
Stuart shot a warning glance to the officers.
Deirdre took a moment to reflect, but her thoughts were not on her dead neighbor, Jimmy Lee Hayden, but the imposing figure who stood before her.
While Detective Stuart Beaumont was in her home, Deirdre watched his movements closely – how he commanded a presence as he walked across the floor -- just as a lion's confident yet graceful strides through a jungle command a regal audience. And those deep brown eyes…
“Let me rephrase my question," Stuart responded. "How would you describe him when he was alive?”
Deirdre’s hair fell just above her shoulders, Stuart noticed. A bob cut, he thought they called it. When she was still, her hair was still, but when she spoke it bobbed delightfully up and down with the movement of her head and hands. Before she answered his second question, she curled her perfectly defined lips inward and stared down at her slender fingers and manicured, red-polished nails. She moistened her lips when she began to speak.
“I’d rather not respond to that until I have more time to think. I mean, you know from the police reports that we had what I would call “drama," but I really need time to reflect on all of that before I can give you a thoughtful and honest answer,” Deirdre said.
------------------------
Earlier that day...
Detective Stuart Beaumont sipped Ginseng tea while he read through the morning's police reports. "Shooting, shooting, knife, knife, shooting, knife, domestic...what's this?" He pulled out the report from the neatly stacked pile on his desk. "A knife in the throat, through the Adam's Apple. Sounds like the pseudo return of Bruce Lee." He set the file of Jimmy Lee Hayden on the top of the stack and began reading. "Oh damn!" He pushed the intercom button.
The voice on the other end of the intercom said, "Detective Roberts."
"Hey, Mike," Stuart said. "Come in here. I believe we've got a 'hot' one."
Detective Roberts entered the tiny, but neatly organized office of Stuart Beaumont, Head of the Investigative Bureau.
"What's up, D.G.?" Stuart smiled when he heard "D.G.", the shortened version of his nickname, Damn Good Luck, which he derived from his many near-to-death incidents that happend in the line of police duty.
"Look here Mike, I've got a kung-fu style murder that occurred some time between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. at 10675 Kensington Avenue, where the ritzy people move to get away from all of the crime. We got this gal -- Morgan's here last name -- an investeegative reporter for the San Antonio Daily Sun --" he mispronounced deliberatley with a know-it-all look on his face. "She lives next door to the victim, and she's on the possible witness list. If this story gets special attention because of her proxmity and access, and good looks -- damn, those reporters have bionic ear and bionic booster sets now -- somebody's gonna get hurt, seriously hurt, and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. "Damn!" he said as he slammed down the papers.
"I think she'll stay away from this one, D.G., Mike said.
"Why's that?"
"Take a sip of that golden tea and read on," Mike smiled and made himself comfortable in the dark brown, circa 1968 classroom-style wooden chair.
"Well, I'll be damned." Stuart looked up at Detective Roberts. "Possible witness and possible suspect."
TO BE CONTINUED...