Where was I? I had to look back at the last blog post to see which book I left off with. My dial up system isn’t working right. I’ve placed several calls to see why I get disconnected or not able to dial in. Each time I get a different person that thinks the problem is solved. In just a few minutes, I find out I still get cut off. So this morning I’m going to give posting a try before I call in for more advice on what to do Where next.
We went to Mt. Pleasant, Iowa on Friday at the start of the Old Thrashers Reunion. It’s always fun talking to other people and seeing what’s new for exhibits and all the stuff that isn’t new. Now that I’m hard at work on a new family book for my mother’s family I found items I took pictures of to use in my book just like I did last year for my husband’s family book. This one is going to be larger than the one I did last year. I’ve got a larger family to write about. Can’t use the tape recorder so have to call many of the relatives and take notes for an hour or two then try to figure out my handwriting later. It’s fun finding out stories that I didn’t know and I’m enjoying the family history. One nice thing about getting in touch with relatives is I have expanded my customer base. Once they figured out I write books, they wanted to buy one and have come back for more. As long as they talk about me in their area that spreads my customer base. A frost warning for Wednesday and Thursday night has me worrying about my flowers. I hate to take them in this early when they bloom the prettiest. I can set them back out after the cool front passes, but they need different containers for living in the house all winter. So no offense to the northern part of Iowa, but I’m hoping the frost stays there for a few weeks yet. Today I’m talking about my book The County Seat Killer - book 3 of Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. This story is about the retirement home residents, including Gracie and Melinda. They have to testify at a murder trial at the county seat. The story could be considered a continuation of book one The Neighbor Watchers, but each book has a beginning and an ending. I do make reference in most of the books about something that happened in another book. For those who read the books in order the references will be familiar. When I do a series I put the book number on the cover so it is easy to tell the book’s order in the series. Synopsis Though the county seat isn’t such a big city, it is larger than Locked Rock and filled with strangers. When she gets off the train, Gracie is uncomfortable right away. By the time she’s been in town a few days, she is wishing she was safe at home. A strange man keeps following her around town. When a woman is found dead, Gracie gets the feeling that was meant to be her. When she testifies at the trial, she refuses to give a list of Locked Rock men that was visiting the lady of the evening that was murdered across the street from Moser Mansion Rest Home. The judge has her jailed on contempt of court for not cooperating. Gracie hates it in jail, but the sheriff thinks it might be safer for her there than out on the streets until they find the killer that’s stalking her. I was award first place in the Little Rock, Arkansas’s Arkansas Writers’ Conference Nuts and Jolts contest a few years back for one of the chapters in the book. So find this book along with the other five in the mystery series in Kindle, Nook, Amazon paperback and in my online bookstore site http:www.booksbyfaybookstore. Chapter 1 At the crack of dawn, chaotic noises funneled through the window pane from the alley below. The loud racket vibrated off the hotel room walls, making it seem like what ever was happening was taking place right in the room. One thud after another was followed by a horse’s shrill, frightened whinny. Restless yet not quite awake, Gracie Evans, tossed one way then the other. Finally, she turned on her side to face the window. A man’s rough voice, venting angry curses, jarred her to her senses. She batted her eyes against the bright sunlight and swiped a thin strand of gray, wavy hair out of her face. Gracie turned over to look on the other side the bed at Melinda Applegate. Her eyes were closed. Under her breath, Gracie growled in her gruff voice, “What’s going on down there anyway? A body cain’t sleep for all that racket.” Holding up the front of her cotton nightgown, she sucked in a quick breath when her warm, bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor. Feeling the mattress move, Melinda slurred softly through a yawn, “What could be the matter at this early hour?” She brushed one of her mass of gray curls out of her eyes and rose up on her elbow to watch Gracie at the window. “A man in the alley is trying to control his skittish horse while he throws the hotel garbage in his wagon. Looks to me like the fellow’s making matters worse by getting hostile with the horse. If you was to ask me, that man’s not much good with horses. He’s not smart enough to realize the poor nag’s scared more by his voice than by the noise the garbage makes hitting the wagon bottom,” the elderly woman surmised in an expert tone. The jittery critter pranced, jerking the wagon back and forth. The man had trouble hitting where he aimed when he threw the garbage at the wagon. Finally, he emptied the barrels and climbed up to the seat. With a loud curse, he gave a hard flick of the reins. The skittish horse moved forward with a dancing prance. Now that the show was over, Gracie took the time to inspect another man, leaning against the back of the saloon. With one foot hiked up on the wall, he sat on his worn thin, scuffed, boot. If not a tramp then maybe a sharecropper. He wore faded jeans with jagged holes at the knees and a thread bare, reddish, flannel shirt. An indolent air was apparent about him as he reared back against the building with his thumbs stuck in his jean pockets. His head, hidden by a dusty, straw hat with the brim drooping, turned slightly as he watched the garbage collector leave the alley. With as much noise as the collector and horse made, the sharecropper being able to sleep that close seemed like an impossible feat for sure. Besides as far as Gracie knew, only horses could stand and sleep. Maybe cows sometimes, but not men. One thing for certain, she couldn’t sleep for that noise, and she was way up on the second floor of the hotel. So how could that man doze off right down there near the racket? From the look of him, most likely he spent more time with his elbows propped on the bar than he did working on his farm. That might explain his hearing problem. The man raised his head up. He peered from under his straw hat’s frayed brim at Gracie’s window. He stiffened when he spotted her observing him. In a matter of seconds, he straightened up and put both feet on the ground, seemly more alert. He lowered his head again, but not quick enough. Gracie caught the cold look on his face and the thin lip sneer his seeing her produced. He had the look of a man who had been weaned on sour pickles. Puzzled by his reaction, she reasoned that since the man didn’t know her, it must be women in general that he didn’t like. He turned his back to the hotel and moseyed away with a right sided limp down the alley as though he didn’t have a reason to hurry. All at once, the man stopped. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. His shoulders shook as he barked a racking, dry, smoker’s cough. Once the coughing fit left him, he walked to the boardwalk and turned in the direction of the saloon. A feeling of foreboding attacked Gracie as he disappeared from sight. She hated it when that warning of danger surged through her. More often than not something came of the threatening premonitions that overwhelmed her. Trying to ignore the dreaded feeling of something terrible to come, she turned back to Melinda and complained, “Sometimes I get mad at that rooster of Sara Bullock’s when he crows so early across the street from the rest home. Right now that rooster would be easier to take then these city noises. I’ll be glad when we get back to Locked Rock and can sleep in our own beds.” “For Heaven sake, we just got here yesterday afternoon. Give it a chance. The time will fly by. You’ll see. We’re awake now so we might as well get dressed. Miss Molly will be knocking on our door before you know it to get us to go with her for breakfast.” Melinda said in her soft voice. She stood up and leaned over the other bed in the room. Gently, she shook the sleeping woman’s limp shoulder. “Time to wake up, Libby.” “Beats me how you can sleep so sound, Libby,” groused Gracie. “There was a ruckus in the alley just now, and you didn’t even hear a thing.” The bed covers stirred. Libby Hook groaned. She stretched and rubbed her eyes. “You’d get used to city noises if you’d lived in a big enough one for a while,” she snapped sassily. “Ain’t gonna happen,” Gracie bristled back at her. As Melinda predicted, in a short time a series of light knocks tapped on the door. Molly Moser Lang called, “Ladies, are you awake?” “Who’s got the key?” Libby asked, pulling her dress down over her petticoat. Pinching a handful of material on both sides, she shook her skirt the rest of the way to the floor. “I have,” Gracie said. Reaching over to the night table beside her, she picked up the key and tossed it to Libby. “Good catch.” Wordlessly, Libby opened the door and stood back. She pushed hairpins farther into the dark gray bun rolled on the back of her neck while she waited for Molly and Moxie to enter. “Come on in, Miss Molly,” called Melinda. She placed the comb she’d used on her short, gray curls back in her black, cloth bag and tightened the drawstrings. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Gracie deftly whipped three, long, thinning strands of gray hair into a braid while she studied Melinda. The lady’s soft, cheerful voice always sounded too sugary for so early in the morning, but Gracie resisted the urge to say so. Melinda would just laugh at her. She’d say Gracie was all out of sorts because of being woke up so rudely. Now that she had time to think about it, Gracie reckoned Melinda was probably right. Molly hurried through the door. “Are you ladies ready? We best go down to the dining room before we go over to the courthouse.” Molly’s short friend and permanently, visiting house guest, Moxie McEntire, slid from behind her. “Good morning to ye all,” she greeted. “Let’s go sample city fare for a change. Sure and it tis a fact, I’m ready to eat breakfast.” “You’re always ready to eat,” groused Gracie, stabbing a hairpin through the two braids she’d crowned round the top of her head. She straightened her shoulders and flexed her fingers in her lap. She was always glad when she had that chore done. Didn’t take very long holding her arms up in the air to start her shoulders aching. That worried her. How would she get her hair braided when she couldn’t do it herself. The sad thought struck her that maybe she wouldn’t. Her scrappy hair would fly about her face and shoulders, giving her a witchy look. That thought didn’t make her mood any better. “Well! Sure and ye are a chipper songbird this very morning,” quipped Moxie. Gracie narrowed her eyes at Moxie. Before she had a chance to retort, Molly asked, “Is something wrong already? Golly Moses, we just got here?” “Gracie just woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Libby criticized. “I see.” Molly gave that an instant of thought. She decided to put off asking what was the matter with Gracie that early in the morning. “Why don’t we discuss it over breakfast. I agree with Moxie. I’m starving. Let’s go eat.” She headed out the open door. As the Moser ladies trouped down the hall, Gracie let her mind wonder to what was ahead that day. She wanted to see justice done as far as Mavis Jordan was concerned. After all, she did commit the murder of their neighbor, Rachel Simpson, across the street from them in Locked Rock, Iowa the summer before. That wicked woman deserved whatever punishment she received from the law. Actually, Gracie thought she’d look forward to coming to the county seat to testify at Mavis’s trial. After a long, winter, the idea of doing something different besides sitting in front of the parlor fireplace all day seemed exciting to her at the time, but sleeping in this fancy hotel and putting up with all the finery that went with it hadn’t entered her mind. She was definitely out of her element. Now that the time had come, all she wanted to do was head back to Locked Rock as soon as she could. She wanted to be in familiar surroundings, with people she knew and to sleep in her own bed. No other bed at night felt as good as a fellow’s own bed. Walking behind the other ladies, Gracie descended on the wide, scarlet carpeted stairs to the lobby. She looked down over the women’s bobbing heads in front of her at the vast space. This county seat hotel, for sure, was grander than Molly Lang’s Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women. She never thought she’d see the day she’d be staying in a building fancier than that place. Forked shadows flickered across the wall beside her. Out of the corner of her eyes, Gracie caught the movements. She stopped, placed a hand on the beefy, oak railing to steady herself and looked up. Above her dangled two enormous chandeliers trimmed with shimmering, crystal bells. The lighting glowed through the glass bells, reflecting prisms that played off the lobby’s dome shaped, gilded wood ceiling. The prisms danced in brilliant, pastel shades of a rainbow like one that dressed up the sky after a quick, spring shower. An urge of another sort hit her. What she wouldn’t give to be out on her farm on an April morning after a spring shower settled the dust, smelling the crisp, cleansed air. Instead, she was stuck amid dressed up strangers scurrying who knows where with never a how you do to anyone. In the next second, Gracie consoled herself that she wasn’t missing much on the farm right then. So far the first of April hadn’t felt much like spring. The days stayed stubbornly cold and dreary with the threat of a late snowstorm in the air. Gracie surveyed the lobby. She wondered when the last time was she had seen so many people in one place. Maybe it was at Molly and Orie’s wedding last October. Though it could have been that ill fated barn dance after the wedding that Molly made her go to. Plenty of people turned up there. Even Millard Sokol showed up. Gracie shook her head. She decided she best not think about that wedding dance and her old beau if she wanted to get over her bad mood any time soon. The hotel bustled with wall to wall people. A line formed at the reception desk. Dressed in a black, broadcloth suit and white shirt, the same clerk, that helped Molly yesterday afternoon, accepted returned keys or handed them back out from the wooden pegs on the wall behind him to other people checking in. A nervous fellow, his eyes darted around the lobby, seeming to miss nothing that went on around him. All the while, he talked to the hotel guests as if they had his full attention. Over in one corner, people waited in line for their turn to ride up in the bronze elevator. A load of passengers behind the barred door rose and slowly disappeared from sight. That wasn’t to Gracie’s liking to be packed tight like a mess of catfish on a stringer in that hot cage. Besides she’d rather be doing the moving on the stairs with some elbow room instead of riding in that elevator with a cavernous hole under her. The stairs felt safer to her. Covered with a stack of newspapers, a shiny, mahogany table, with bowed legs and gilded clawed feet, set between two large, crimson sofas in the middle of the lobby. Both sofas were already filled with people, reading the Cedar Valley newspaper. Glancing over one woman’s shoulder as she past by, Gracie made out the bold headlines, “Mavis Jordan Trial Starts Today - April 8, 1904”. historiA couple weeks ago I went on twitter to click on recent followers. For once the whole list came up fairly quick without telling me to wait because of a hiccup. Turned out to be more tweets than I had received notice about in my emails. I sent a message thanking each one and mentioned my books. In return I had a message back from Kindle Surprise. If I would email my book titles the books would be mentioned on Twitter. I did that. Then I had a tweet on Twitter from Booksie Jar telling me my twitter address had been mentioned along with several others. Pays to keep replying to followers. I am several behind right now. Most of these are fishermen and gardeners but they probably read books or someone that follows them will read my Thanks for following me-buy my books tweet.
I was gone to the Ozarks last week - to Nevada, Missouri to be exact. It is so good to connect with many of my southern cousins on my mother's side. It had been four years since I had been home. We lost a Uncle, my mother's brother, - one that we all considered very special. That brought on reminiscing while my family was together, and the usual I can't retain all this. We need it wrote down with a family tree for our children. Since I took some of the cousins one of my books the stares were directed at me. All right, I did write a book for my husband's family last year. I have many old pictures of my mother's aunts, uncles and grandparents and stories. So I volunteered. Cuts into my writing a book time, but I have entered this thinking of it as a labor of love for my generation of cousins and their future offsprings. I've heard from a cousin in Oskaloosa, Iowa that a bookstore downtown called Book Vault has put a few more of my books in the online store and when asked in the store they will order the books. This cousin is a good salesman for me. She goes in the store, reminds the clerk that she is related to me and she'd like any book I've written. Now if only I can talk the other 49 cousins that are scattered across the country into doing that. Maybe if I keep passing around free books it will happen. Now on my blog sites I'm going to submit the first chapter from Specious Nephew - Book 2- Amazing Gracie Mysteries. Most that read the title probably think that I spelled suspicious wrong, but I remembered my Ozark born mother pronouncing the word specious and thought that was the way my Gracie Evans spoke. Remember this series is historical mysteries set in early 1900's. My blogsite http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or http://www.booksbyfay.blogspot.com If you want to see a review look on Amazon and find the ebook in Kindle and Nook stores. In this book, the owner of Moser Mansion Rest Home in Locked Rock, Iowa, Molly Moser, is planning her wedding to the butter and egg man, Orie Lang. She is having a garden wedding in the back yard. The residents are invited to the wedding, and they may ask a relative to escort them. Gracie Evans doesn't have any relatives. Libby Hook has one son in California that refuses to come back for a wedding. Melinda Applegate has lost track of her brother and sister since they moved away from Iowa. She decides it is time she tried to find a relative so she advertises in a reader to reader column of a big newspaper. Much to her surprise, Melinda gets a letter from Jeffrey Armstrong. He claims to be her nephew and would be glad to come for the wedding. Once he shows up, Gracie takes a dislike to him. She can just tell he is up to no good, but Melinda won't listen. She is too busy letting Jeffrey escort her around town and on buggy rides. Gracie tries to tell others at the mansion of her suspicions. They think she is jealous, because Melinda wasn't rocking with her on the porch any more. Molly Moser Lang leaves on a month long honeymoon, leaving her friend, Moxie McEntire, in charge of the rest home. If Gracie didn't have enough to worry about with the specious nephew lurking about now all sorts of upheaval breaks loose. Jeffrey's vague threats to quit nosing around worry her. Moxie may be trying to replace the late Rachel Simpson as the town's lady of the evening. With all that's happening, Miss Molly is going to be gone way too long to suit Gracie. Chapter 1 God didn't intend for old folks to like fall, thought Gracie Evans. She vigorously rubbed her aching, left knee. The crisp, north breeze rattled brown leaves on the unkempt, pivot hedge along side of Moser Mansion Rest Home For Women. A shiver run through Gracie, settling in under the dark gray braids wrapped around her head. In an instant a strong gust of wind tore loose a handful of leaves and scooted them along the porch floor in front of Gracie and her companion, Melinda Applegate. The leaves made it all the way to the south end of the porch. They swirled up in a whirlwind motion then scattered across the yard, lodging in the dead leaf piles at the base of the hedge and the picket fence. Looking at the clematis on the trellis in front of her, Gracie grimaced. The look of it was more proof that fall was an ugly time of year. It was the ninth of September. The vine had thinned to a screen of yellow leaves, like what was left of the ones on the honeysuckle and morning glory vines that grew on either end of the porch. Not that Gracie needed shade from the hot, summer sun now. The two handmade, Amish rockers positioned behind each of the three vines no longer needed protection. In fact, what little warmth the sun provided soaked into her, feeling mighty good now that this sudden cool snap hinted at an early frost. She didn't bother to squint through the peek holes in the vines. She'd kept them clear of leaves during the summer to give Melinda and her an unobstructed view of the neighbors comings and goings. Now there were more natural openings then leaves, and wouldn't you know not much exciting to watch across the street since the lady of the evening, Rachel Simpson, was murdered and her house burnt to the ground. Two doors north of Rachel's house, Mavis and Dan Jordan split up during the summer. That couple sure kept things exciting for awhile with their fighting. Many a night she'd watched Dan Jordan sneak into the side door of Rachel Simpson's house after dark until his wife, Mavis, found out. Then Dan ran off. After that Mavis went off the deep end. She murdered the Simpson girl, realized that Gracie and Melinda knew too much and put fear into everyone at the Moser mansion until Gracie and Melinda helped get Mavis arrested for Rachel's murder. Now the Jordan house stood empty. A retired couple, Earl and Sara Bullock, owned the house on the middle lot across the street. Nice enough couple but about as exciting as watching an old dog chase his tail. The highlight of their day seemed to be working in the flower beds and garden in the summer. Of course, that was more than she had to keep her busy. Gracie had to give them that. All she did was sit, letting people wait on her. Now with fall coming on, Gracie expected the Bullocks would stay out of sight, indoors by the fire, but this day had certainly been different. There had been a flurry of activity at their house. For the better part of the day, Gracie sit tight to her rocker, trying to figure out what the heck was happening over there. The fact was there just wasn't any other way for Gracie to occupy her time in the rest home. She was willing to stick with sitting on the Moser porch until much colder weather hit Locked Rock, Iowa to keep from sitting closed away in the dark parlor. That would happen soon enough. Of course, Melinda agreed to rock on the porch with her. That helped. They always had each other to pass the time of day with. That is, when she could keep Melinda awake. Besides there wasn't anything wrong with a body being curious. Gracie felt she needed to stay informed about what was happening in the community. What easier way to do it for an old person besides listening and watching the neighbors. "A penny for your thoughts," suggested Melinda in her soft voice, breaking the silence. She relaxed her head against her rocker, her light gray, curls flattened to her face like tiny springs. The petite woman gave Gracie a long, thoughtful look. Gracie studied on what she should say before she spoke, wanting to blurt that God hadn't intended for fall to be a season suitable for old folks, but she resisted. Melinda would scold her for being sacrilegious if she bothered to be so truthful. Instead she looked down at the sunlight that filtered through the vine onto her lap. Stretching a crooked finger out, she tapped at the pale yellow sparkles of light that danced along the folds of her brown skirt. Finally, she answered in her brassy voice, waving her finger back and forth toward the open space between the two vines. "I'm thinking now that the sun's peeking under the roof we should move our rockers over so we get the full sunshine. I don't know about you, but I'm mighty chilly. Here it is early in the afternoon when the day should be the warmest. If you ask me it's too early to have this cold a weather." Melinda smiled at Gracie's complaining. She replied softly, "Well, you know the old saying. If you don't like the weather in Iowa, wait awhile. It'll change." "Just the same, I'd rather not freeze to death any sooner than I have to. A body could catch her death sitting in the shade on a day like today. Let's move over in the sunlight." Melinda nodded agreement. She rose, scooted her rocker over, and left room for Gracie. Tugging her rocker into position, Gracie plopped down. Tapping her toes on the floor, she began to rock energetically, hoping that would help warm her up. A group of children ran down the street, shouting and laughing. Definitely the fall season is for the younger generations, confirmed Gracie to herself. Young ones stayed active enough that they didn't feel the chill in the air. Thank goodness her mind was clear enough that she remembered those days, but she gave a deep sigh when she thought about how long ago that was. Gracie contemplated Main Street with hitching racks almost empty of buggies and horses. "Not much business at the stores with the farmers in the fields, gathering in the corn crops before the first snow came. Orie Lang hadn't even been by much lately to take Miss Molly for a buggy ride." "He managed to stop picking corn long enough to pick Miss Molly up for church again Sunday. Most times he stays for dinner like last Sunday before he heads back to the farm," defended Melinda. "Expect Aunt Pearlbee's cooking is the only good meal that bachelor gets. He's no dummy," replied Gracie. Smiling, Melinda made a tent of her fingers and brought them up to touch her lips. "If you'd been paying attention lately, you'd notice Mr. Orie isn't taking notice of Aunt Pearlbee's cooking while he's here." "Come to think of it, Mr. Orie didn't seem in such a hurry last Sunday. He spent a good part of the afternoon in the parlor with Miss Molly. He must be about done with the harvest," decided Gracie. "Reckon so. It'll be good for Miss Molly when Mr. Orie starts coming more regular. Since they've been sparking, Miss Molly seems so happy," said Melinda. Gracie didn't have a reply for that comment so she sat quietly drifting in her thoughts. She watched a couple of squirrels, chasing each other along side the porch. For the last several days, they'd scampered across the yard with their cheeks full. Now that their fur coats grew thick and fuzzy to ward against the cold, they sensed it was time to store a food supply for the winter. They buried walnuts and acorns in the ground or hid their bootee at the base of the hedge. It seemed like only yesterday, Melinda and she watched from the gazebo while a couple of squirrels scurried up the old maple in the backyard, carrying food to babies in a leafy nest. It must be true that the time passes faster as a body gets older. No doubt about it, thought Gracie, frowning. She looked at the brown spots covering the back of her hands and wondered when they had turned ugly on her. In her younger days, she didn't have time to worry about yesterday or tomorrow for that matter. In the fall, she kept busy on her farm. Just like the men farmers, she'd work along side a wagon pulled by a team of work horses. She yanked the ears out of the dried shucks and threw them at the wagon. As she walked down the rows between the dried stalks, she shouted, "Come Queen, come Buck." The horses moved slowly past her, stopping when Gracie hollered whoa. All the while hurrying as fast as she could, Gracie worked to fill the wagon, making the most of the daylight hours. She was pretty darn good at picking corn. As good as any man she knew. And now what am I gathering? She asked herself at that moment in 1903 while she sat on the mansion porch Locked Rock. A sudden breeze blowing from Canada made her mighty uncomfortable. Gracie silently answered her question with, goose bumps. She vigorously rubbed her arms. Tugging her walnut stained, knit shawl tighter over the front of her long sleeve, tan blouse, she smoothed it out in her lap over her calico skirt. What she needed was something to think about besides being cold like what was going on in the front yard right then. A swarm of monarch butterflies fluttered across the front yard, flitting from the large rest home sign over to the vines then back to the picket fence. They seemed restless as if too tired to light and rest. The orange and black blurs soared up high and floated down in a slow, graceful ballet. Migrating on their journey south, the butterflies needed to rest for a spell, but by morning, they'd be on their way again. Once in awhile in the summer, a lonely butterfly flitted around the honeysuckle, but that wasn't the same. It'd be another year before a large number flocked together to give this kind of show and then only for a few hours on their way south. As the monarchs fluttered down the street, Gracie relaxed back against her rocker and sighed. "Gracie, if you keep frowning, you're face is going to freeze that way with as cool as it's getting," teased Melinda. "What's the matter with you today?" "I hate the cold of fall and winter. That's all. I feel winter coming in my bones already, and I dread it," Gracie said with sincerity. "Well, worrying about something that you can't stop from happening isn't going to make you feel any better. I swear the better I get to know you the more the word curmudgeon comes to mind." The way Melinda looked at Gracie wasn't altogether flattering. Gracie gave her a hard look right back. "Whoa there! That don't sound like a nice thing to call me. What is this crud mudge on anyway?" "The word is curmudgeon. If you want to know what it means look it up in the dictionary in the Moser library," said Melinda. "Fine friend you are. Calling me names," snapped Gracie, wiggling indignantly in her rocker. The screen door hinges squeaked. The cook, Pearlbee, shuffled slowly through the doorway, steadying a tray with two cups on it. The thought ran through Gracie's mind that if Pearlbee's hips got any broader, she'd have to turn sideways to go through the doors. Wouldn't do to bring that up to the cook though. Let Pearlbee's dander get up and she turned into a cyclone in action. "Hi, Aunt Pearlbee," greeted Gracie. "Didn't realize it was tea time yet. We can sure use that." "Yes, thank you, Aunt Pearlbee. I'm so glad Miss Molly decided to start having tea time. It breaks up the afternoon." Pearlbee lowered the tray down to Melinda. She hooked her fingers in the handle of a steaming cup, lifted it off the tray and wrapped her hands around it. "I'm sure ready for something to warm me up," said Gracie, reaching for her steaming cup. The cook's unsteady gait made it hard for her to keep the tray steady. Melinda suggested in concern for the cook's safety, "Aunt Pearlbee, you really should use your cane more." "Ah's knowed it Missus, but cain't when I gets my hands full," declared Pearlbee. "Maybe we should come get our own tea from now on. That would be of help wouldn't it, Gracie?" suggested Melinda. Gracie thought Pearlbee puffed up some. Never could tell when she'd get miffed about someone taking a chore away from her. Gracie sure didn't want that anger directed at her. Let this be Melinda's idea. Noncommittally, she shrugged her shoulders. "Don't make no never mind to me." "Then that's what we will do. You just let us know when you're ready Aunt Pearlbee. We'll come to the kitchen after the tea." As if she sensed Pearlbee might not know how to take this helping hand, Melinda gave the cook a close inspection and quickly changed the subject to one favorable to Pearlbee. "My, you do look nice in your new uniform, Aunt Pearlbee," she complimented. "Thank ya, Missus," beamed Pearlbee, swishing her hips exaggeratedly to model the full effect of her newly acquired, black, challis dress set off by a white linen collar and cuffs on the long sleeves. Pearlbee reached for the hem of her full length, stiffly starched, white apron and held it out. She twisted around to show them the fancy way the pointed yoke straps came to a v in back where the ties made a bow. Gracie took a sip from her cup before she watched the cook model her uniform. Drinking the warm tea make her even more uncomfortable. "Aunt Pearlbee, find us those quilts we cover our laps with when you have time. I don't think it's going to warm up enough out here this afternoon to be comfortable without them." "Sure thing, Miss Gracie. Ah's be right back." Pearlbee waddled back to the screen door, balancing the empty tray. Melinda watched the cook disappear then chastised, "Gracie, the least you could have done was tell Aunt Pearlbee you liked her new uniform." Gracie pursed her lips, thinking about her answer. "Maybe but she looked all right in the ever day outfits she used to wear as far as I'm concerned." "But she's proud of that uniform, and she does look nice in it," insisted Melinda. "Don't expect Aunt Pearlbee would have gotten that fancy getup if she hadn't kept up such a fuss over that missing red apron we borrowed and didn't bring back. Miss Molly just gave her the uniform to calm her down," reminded Gracie, looking away from Melinda to across the street. Her mind was torn between arguing with Melinda and wondering what the two strange men were up to at the Bullocks. They made repeated trips, carrying boards and rolls of wiring into the house. "What do you mean we?" Melinda's sweet, quiet voice rose a little. She darted a glance at the door. Focusing on Gracie, she lowered her voice, "As I remember it, that idea was yours, putting the apron in the package mean Mavis hid in exchange for the bloody dress she wore when she murdered Rachel Simpson. You're just lucky Aunt Pearlbee hasn't found out yet." Gracie straightened in her rocker, squared her shoulders and jabbed a crooked finger at Melinda. "I'm lucky. As I recall you were right there in the tool shed in the middle of the night helping me find that package. Weren't you?" Melinda sunk back in her rocker. "You're right," she muttered half heartily, looking down at her folded hands in her lap. A door bang across the street. Gracie put her attention in that direction. She sure didn't want to miss anything. With curiosity in her voice, she exclaimed, "There comes a couple men out of Sara Bullock's house again. Wonder what she's having done? Sure was a mess of boards and wire, those men unloaded from that wagon this morning." "Look at that fence post those two men put up in the corner of the yard. Must be all of thirty feet tall. Makes me nervous wondering what kind of animal Earl intends to keep in Rachel Simpson's yard when they get it fenced in," said Melinda. "That ain't a fence post. No animal needs a fence that high in the air," snorted Gracie in disdain. "That's a city girl for you." "Well, Miss Know It All, what is it for then? Oh wait, here comes Sara. We'll just ask her," returned Melinda, defensively. "Yahoo, ladies," shouted Sara, waving at them. Gracie noted under her breath, "Sara, got her apron on. Must be making a hurry up call." Melinda returned the wave and called eagerly, "Good afternoon. Come on up here." Sara settled her wide hips between the arms of a rocker behind the honeysuckle vine. She untied her bonnet and removed it from her head. Anxious to get out of Sara what was going on, Melinda asked, "We've been dying of curiosity about all the activity at your place. What you fixing?" Gracie leaned forward to look around Melinda. Sara took her time folding and placing her bonnet in her lap. She knew the elderly women could hardly wait to satisfy their curiosity. Grinning, she said, "Not fixing anything. I got me a job. That stuff goes with it." "What kind of job?" Rushed out of Gracie's mouth. "I'm a telephone switch board operator," informed Sara proudly. "What's a telephone?" Gracie wanted to know. "That's one of those new contraptions that people are talking on to each other now," shared Sara. "Well, what is that big fence pole in the corner of your yard for?" quizzed Melinda. Sara giggled. "It's not a fence pole. That's a telephone pole." "See there," Gracie rubbed in. "I told you that was no fence post." "Well, let Sara finishing tell us what it is then," Melinda snipped, peevishly. Their neighbor continued to explain, "There will be more poles set down the block. Wire has to be strung on them and hooked to the houses of everyone who has a telephone to send messages over." "What's going on out here?" Molly Moser peeked through the screen door. "I thought I heard talking." "Afternoon, Molly. I was just telling Gracie and Melinda about my new job," replied Sara. "What! You have a job? Tell me, too." Molly popped outside. The screen door shut with a hollow bang and bounced a couple times before it stilled. The young woman scurried over to sit down in the rocker next to Sara. She gripped the rocker seat, leaned forward and put all her attention on their neighbor. "I'm going to run the switchboard for the telephones out of my home. I'm what they call a switchboard operator," Sara announced proudly. "Want to come see what it looks like? The workmen should have everything about set up by now." "Sure, I'd like to see," said Molly, eagerly. Melinda looked at Gracie. "We want to go, too. Don't we?" "Reckon." With little enthusiasm, Gracie tried to digest what this new gadget that Sara described was all about as they crossed the street. She wasn't so sure she was going to like whatever it turned out to be. The small, clapboard house the Bullocks owned was one of several look alike houses in town built in a hurry to accommodate people that moved to town after the railroad came. Gracie followed behind Molly and Melinda through the neat, but sparse parlor. Between the worn, dark brown, horsehair couch and a stuffed chair that matched it sat a table with a kerosene lamp in the middle surrounded by books. A rocker was by the front window. Near it sat a small table with a bouquet of pink and lavender asters in the center. Most likely they'd be the last flowers Sara would gather this year out of her flower beds. The middle of the floor was covered by a large, oval, multicolored rag rug. Knowing how handy Sara was, Gracie figured she braided it from sewing scraps and the best parts of old clothes. Sara like Gracie never threw anything away. Gracie's mother used to say, "Just as sure as shootin' you throw away something, there'll come the day you could have used it." Over the years, Gracie found her mother's advice to be right. What never came up was the fact that finding something later that had been laid back for future use was often a hopeless case. In later years, Gracie hunted through the piles of objects discarded by her parents and herself, searching for an item. If it took very long to find what she was looking for, she'd then have to stop and think a while to remember why she wanted to find the object in the first place. Sara motioned for her guests to follow her. She led them to a door on the north end of the parlor. "This is the spare bedroom, but there's room for the bed and the switchboard, too." When they heard the women, the two workers, in chambray work shirts and jeans, got up from a kneeling position. Both of them were covered in dirt and sawdust. They'd stuffed a vast number of rubber coated wires attached to the back of the switchboard into a hole in the board floor. They stepped back from the large piece of plywood nailed in one corner to let Sara and her friends view their handiwork. "We just about have the switchboard hooked up, Mrs. Bullock. You'll be able to try it out afore long," the taller of the two men told Sara, pointing to the board full of small, gold cranks with white knobs. Gracie leaned forward to inspect the silver plates below the cranks. She recognized several names. Sara stepped up beside her and picked up a brown, bell shaped piece resting on a small wooden platform at the edge of the switchboard. "This is called a receiver. It's what I listen into when folks talk to me." She held it to her ear and pointed to a wooden framed hole at the side of the switchboard. "This is what I talk into." "Who all has one of these telephones?" asked Molly. "The Locked Rock Mercantile and some of the other businesses. Some folks in town like Doc Lawson, Madge Potter, Phillip Harris, and a few others," said Sara. "Not many people yet, but more will want one once they see how it works." "Sounds like folks that has money to me. I'll bet something like this gadget don't come cheap. What good is it going to be when no one that we want to talk to has one of them," said Gracie in a matter of fact tone. Ignoring Gracie, Melinda asked, "How far away can you talk on one of these things?" "To anyone that has a telephone all over the country. Lots of folks have them out east in the bigger cities like New York." Molly studied the switchboard. Suddenly, she spoke. "I'd like to have one, too." "Really, Miss Molly," said Melinda, gleefully. "Yes, think how quick it'd be to get Doctor Lawson if one of us needs him. All we'd have to do is ring him up. Can you sign me up, Sara?" "I sure can. You'll have one put in tomorrow." "Golly Moses, that soon. I'm excited about this. Aren't you ladies?" Instantly, her thoughts turned elsewhere. Molly glanced down at the watch attached to her blouse. "Oh my, look at the time. We better think about heading home. Aunt Pearlbee must have dinner about ready, and she doesn't like it if her food gets cold." I’ll start by informing you how to find my mystery books. The latest Amazing Gracie Mystery, book six, as well as the other five are on Amazon and http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com and ebook in kindle and nook. Book six, Locked Rock, Iowa’s Hatchet Murders, is on ebay for the month of August and on webstore I have several of my books at http://webstore.com/~booksbyfay for a limited time to test out a different sales site. Ordering from my online bookstore or an auction site assures the books come directly from me so the books are cheaper. An added bonus is I can sign the books I send out. Lately if buyers mention they bought one of my books from Amazon and wished they had gotten it from me so it had been signed I send a mailing label signed by me that can be pasted in their books.
This series is mentioned along with my other books on http://www.Iowacenterforthebook.org. and is listed on the website http://www.cozy-mystery.com. The books have received good reviews on Amazon. Luv2read posted Agatha Christie Meets Little House On The Prairie. I highly recommend the Amazing Gracie Mystery Series to anyone who has ever known or had a nosy elderly neighbor that seemed to always know what is going on in the neighborhood. This series of books are a funny, laugh out loud read. These books are unique as the time period is the turn of the century. She posted in an Amazon mystery discussion group that she found the characters so well written that Gracie reminded her of her grandmother, and the sheriff was actor Sam Elliott. The story was so descriptive she could see the scenes playing out in her head. For the first chapter of Neighbor Watchers, book 1, go to my blog at http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com or http://www.booksbyfaycom.blogspot.com When the thought came to me to write a mystery series using characters based on personalities of some of the elderly I took care of at the nursing home I realized the stories would have to be based in a different time period to be believable. So I picked 1903. For one thing that is a simpler, slow paced time. However when you live near or in a small town in the Midwest like I do you find that personalties and characteristics of people haven’t changed much in a hundred years. So take away the horses and kerosene lamps and you might be able to imagine the people in your town. Back a hundred years ago, families cared for elderly relatives in their homes. Women without families moved into a house with other women. They rented a room and were given three meals a day. This is the basis of Moser Mansion in Locked Rock, Iowa. A grand Victorian house inherited by a young woman that couldn’t afford the upkeep on the house unless she rented out rooms so she turned the mansion into a rest home or retirement home for women. I discussed Gracie Evans in the last post. Another resident at the mansion is Melinda Applegate. She’s a dainty, soft spoken, refined lady which makes her the total opposite of Gracie. She protests ideas Gracie come up with, but she’s a follower, and Gracie’s a leader. Libby Hook is a standoffish person who dislikes Gracie so Gracie picks at Libby which keeps them in a permanent disagreement. The mansion owner is a single young woman, Molly Moser, with a busy social life who is clueless about what’s going on around her until someone points out what Gracie has been doing. In book one as in all the other books, you will find Gracie and Melinda rocking on the front porch between meals. They didn’t have activity directors in those days. Three vines grow from trellises on the porch. The women make sure to position their rocker behind the vines. Gracie tears peek holes in the vines so they can spy on the neighbors. They think the neighbors don’t know it. Sounds harmless enough until one hot evening in August after dark. Gracie and Melinda are rocking behind the vine directly across from the lady of the evening’s house. This gives them the advantage of seeing married, "respectable" Locked Rock men slipping into the woman’s house through a side door. This particular evening a woman goes into the house. Though Gracie takes everything with a grain of salt, Melinda is beyond shocked. That woman appears to be the last visitor. The next morning the butter and egg man is making his rounds and finds the lady of the evening has been murdered. The sheriff comes to investigate, but Gracie convinces Melinda not to talk to him. They are afraid without proof the killer will be set free and come after them which she does. You’ll have to read the story to see how Gracie and Melinda get out of this mess. Each book has an ending but to understand the characters and references to past books it is better to start with Neighbor Watchers and read each of the books in order. The books are numbered on the cover so you’ll be able to tell which one comes next. I used clip art on the bright yellow cover that seemed to suit the story. Eyes are peeking from the middle of a wreath of clematises with doves perched on top. On each of the other books the back cover has a smaller version to depict an Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. These fictional stories are set in central Iowa where I live. I hoped that would be a marketing appeal to mid western readers looking for entertaining, humorous feel good books rather than hard core violent mysteries based in large cities. I’m finding those readers for my Amish book series are easily converted to reading my mystery series. One reader who lives nearby tells me it’s torture waiting for the next Gracie Evans book. She likes them that well. So anyone interested just give the first a try and see if you want another one or two or three or six. Next post will be about book 2 in the series - Specious Nephew. First Chapter As if from a long ways off, Gracie Evans heard the hushed squeaks made by her rocker answered by the rocker beside her. The hollow sound she made when she tapped her high top, black shoes against the porch floor, Melinda Applegate’s shoes echoed. In spite of herself, the rocking motion lulled Gracie. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head jerked, nodded and jerked again. She relaxed back against the rocker, and closed her eyes. Later that afternoon, Gracie stirred when sweat tickled her scalp beneath the two dark gray braids crowning her head. Feeling droplets seep from her hairline and trickle down her cheeks, she roused. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and pulled out a large, red handkerchief to swipe her face. Squaring her hunched shoulders, she straightened in her rocker and gave a slight shake of her head to clear it. The layers of calico and cotton petticoat she wore acted as a funnel to trap the uncomfortable heat radiating up from the floor. At that moment, she imagined she felt like the glass shade on a kerosene lamp that had just been lit, warming up and in a very short time too hot to touch. Gracie grabbed a handful of her brown skirt. She discreetly raised it just enough that her shoes showed and vigorously shook the material several times to let some of the hot air escape. The only other relief came when she stirred the breeze in front of her face by waving a paper fan in short, fast strokes. Silently, Gracie chided herself for dozing off, then excused her napping with the fact things were bound to be this way. Boredom is what she got in return for retiring from her farm. She straightened up and tried to read the black print on the large sign posted near the picket fence gate. She couldn’t make it out. Leaning forward, she squinted and failed again. At first, Gracie feared her eyesight had gone bad. With a measure of relief, she realized heat waves shimmering over the shaggy, brown grass blurred the words. She mumbled to herself, "No need to read the sign. I know it says Molly Moser’s Rest Home For Women. I ain’t too senile yet to remember where I live or that this town is Locked Rock, Iowa." She sighed and leaned back again. Every day, she tried to resign herself to the fact that Moser mansion would be where she’d live for the rest of her life. However, she saw no harm in wishing for some excitement to spice up the long days. Across the street, a door banged. Earl Bullock paused long enough in the shade of his house to straightened his straw hat, before he ambled toward Main Street. Gracie wondered if he or his wife, Sara, ever suspected what transpired next door to them at night. Out loud, she said, "Where do you suppose old Earl’s headed on such a hot afternoon? It’s not like him to leave home this time of day since this hot spell started." Melinda failed to answer. Gracie looked away from their neighbor long enough to glance beside her. Melinda stirred slightly. The petite woman raised her sagging head and mumbled, "He’s probably shopping for Sara. With as hot as it is, I’d send my husband to fetch for me if I had one." Gracie paused to think about that statement while she studied a string of black ants that paraded by her feet. As if the heat had got to them, the tiny insects struggled to crawl over the peeling, blue paint at the edge of the porch. Melinda’s idea seemed as good as any other for a person to be outdoors in the middle of the day, taking the full brunt of the unrelenting, August sun. That is, until she looked up to see Earl disappear through the saloon’s batwing doors. "It don’t appear Earl’s after anything for Sara unless she wants a beer. The last I knew, she’s a teetotaler. Not many folks in town this afternoon, Just lookee there where most of the buggies and wagons are parked. Over at the saloon hitch rack," Gracie criticized in her brassy voice. Melinda rubbed her eyes with her finger tips then leaned forward to peer around Gracie. "Humph," she replied, shaking her head with enough energy to cause her mass of gray curls to bounce like tiny springs. "I wonder at the way some people spend their time. I pray they’re as faithful about going to church as they are their patronage at that place." On days the weather permitted, Gracie and Melinda watched from the Victorian mansion’s large porch. Neighbor watching gave Gracie something to do besides sit and twiddle her thumbs. She considered it a harmless past time to while away the endless hours. Besides, it was downright obliging the way the neighbors divided up the day for her without knowing it. Gracie’s conscience plagued her a little for being nosy, but she’d excuse her actions. What she saw after dark she kept to herself. After all, she had her limits about what she’d repeat. What went on across the street at Rachel Simpson’s house she didn’t intend to share with anyone not even Melinda. As soon as their minds cleared from their nap, Gracie decided it was time to move to the north end of the porch in line with the Jordan house. Leaning forward, she plucked a heart shaped leaf that drooped down in the round opening. "Morning glories sure grow fast. I had our holes cleared awhile back." Gracie tilted her head toward one shoulder then leaned the other direction, inspecting the hole. "Can’t see a thing with all them leaves in the way," she growled. Tossing the leaf over the edge of the porch in behind the petunias, she snapped off another one. "Pect I’ll have to clear the holes in the other vines before you know it." She peeked through the hole to make sure her view was unobstructed. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she settled back in her rocker. A back door across the street banged. Dan Jordan came into sight, carrying a scrap pan and water pail. Dan’s large, watch dog, a black with white patches, slick haired mixed breed, lifted his head and uncurled in his hollowed out spot under the oak tree. He stood and stretched, watching Dan place the containers on the ground. When his master spoke, the dog’s tail wagged in rhythm with his swaying back end. He pattered to the man, dragging the clattering chain attached to the log, tool shed. Dan bent over and scratched the dog behind the ears, before he went back into the house. An hour passed. Gracie jerked out of her stupor at the sound of a slammed door. Quickly, she leaned forward to peek through her hole. Dan, a Jewel Tea Salesman, tromped down the porch steps with his wife, Mavis, right behind him. "Lookee there!" Tapping the floor with her foot to start her rocker, Gracie reached over and patted Melinda on the arm to wake her. "Mr. Jordan’s suited up for work with Magpie marching right behind him. She looks as mad as an old wet hen again." Gracie stopped rocking and straightened her bent shoulders. Pointing a crooked finger, her head bobbed up and down in anticipation of a good show. "Magpie sure favors that red dress. She wouldn’t look quite so stocky if she’d wear other colors. What do you think?" "I think you shouldn’t call her that name. One of these days you’ll slip and call her that to her face. Mark my words, from what we’ve seen of that woman’s temper lately, you’d be sorry you did," reproached Melinda. Grabbing her white blouse tacked to her ribs, she shook it. "I’m glad I left my corset off. It’s way too hot for that today. Maybe we should go sit in the parlor." "Hold your horses! Let’s see what the Jordans do first," barked Gracie. Dan, a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, halted abruptly at the end of the yard. He whirled around and peered down at his shrieking wife. "For Pete sakes, keep your voice down. The whole neighborhood will hear you." Mavis glanced around at the nearby houses and across at the mansion. Her face contorted. She defiantly squared herself in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Oh fiddlesticks! Those two old prunes on the Moser porch probably couldn’t hear a stick of dynamite go off if it was under one of their rockers so don’t put me off with that excuse. I want some answers, and I want them now," demanded Mavis, jabbing a finger in his chest. Gracie’s smile dried up, but she listened without comment. She knew Melinda was right about Mavis’s temper. It wouldn’t do to laugh at her peculiar habit of wearing the same red dress most of the time or at her thick, black hair pulled back in a large chignon, making her head look too big for her body. Not within range of her hearing anyway. "I told you I have a sales meeting. That’s why I’m going to be late. I’m looking to get a good commission from this kitchenware sale if I swing it. We can talk about anything you want when I get home. Now go in out of this heat, Sugar Pie. See you tonight," cooed Dan as he walked away. Waving her hands in the air, Mavis muttered to herself as she spun around and headed back to the house. Gracie cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two, but from that distance, she couldn’t make out what the angry woman mumbled. Sauntering down the street with his hands in his pants pockets, Dan whistled, In The Good Old Summertime. "Did you hear what Magpie said about us?" Gracie asked indignantly. "I heard, and did you hear what they said? They can see us sitting over here," worried Melinda, disturbed by that fact but a bit distracted as she watched Jordan calmly amble toward them. Noting the look on her companion’s face, Gracie stated what she thought Melinda was thinking. "It don’t seem right how easy that man can act as though nothing is wrong right after he has a fight with his wife." As the salesman strolled in front of the mansion, he glanced over at the porch as though he had just seen the women. Waving, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies." Gracie managed a curt nod before she looked away. She had no intention of acting as though his presence on the street was any concern of hers. In an attempt to be courteous, Melinda raised her hand in a half hearted wave. After Dan was out of hearing range, Gracie fumed, "I could tell that woman a thing or two about what we old prunes can hear and see. I ain’t that old. Could tell her a thing or two about her dudie husband, too." "Like what? He’s a good salesman. I bought an Autumn Leaf clock from him once." Melinda gave her a curious look. Gracie smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt and muttered quickly, "Ah, I’m just letting off steam." Inwardly, she chided herself for letting her tongue get ahead of her thinking. She thought she knew the reason behind the Jordan fights, but she had to be careful not to reveal more than she was willing to tell. "It wouldn’t be too smart to tell Mavis anything if you want to keep listening in on their fights. Would it?" Melinda waited, studying Gracie who took some time to think about her answer. "No, reckon it wouldn’t be smart atall." If the Jordans realized how well Melinda and she heard their fights, the couple might be more discreet. If that was to happen, Gracie didn’t see any reason to sit on the porch in the afternoon heat. "We should feel sorry for Mavis what with all the problems she has with her man. If she wasn’t so disagreeable all the time, she’d probably be a nice person," lectured Melinda, always looking for the best in everyone. Gracie studied the Jordan place thoughtfully for a moment. She shook her head. "I doubt it. She reminds me too much of Bessie Brown. She always stayed disagreeable just like Magpie. On her good days, I could walk right by her, and she’d stare mean like at me. Other times just looking at me was enough to make her want a fight." Melinda looked puzzled. "What did you do that upset this Bessie all the time?" "Nothing. That old gal was born plain mean just like Mavis Jordan." "Gracie, I doubt that anyone is born mean," disagreed Melinda. "How did you ever manage to make peace with Bessie?" "I shot her," said Gracie, calmly. "Oh, Gracie!" Melinda cried. Her face paled as her blue eyes widened. She slowly shook her head and managed to utter, "You didn’t do that, did you?" She leaned close and peered at Gracie intently. "You’re pulling my leg. Aren’t you?" "No, I’m not. It was either me or that cow. The older I got, the harder it was to get out of her way when she charged at me." "Oh my goodness! Bessie was a cow." Melinda took a deep breath and flopped back in her rocker, patting her chest. Giving Gracie’s admission some thought, she reconsidered. "But still in all, it seems to me that’s a drastic thing to do to your own cow." "At the time, I felt like that’s all I could do," answered Gracie, with a shrug of her shoulders. She studied a crack in the floor and traced it with the toe of her shoe to keep from looking at Melinda. "What do you say we go in for awhile out of this heat? Please," begged Melinda. "Let’s see if Aunt Pearlbee made some fresh lemonade." Gracie scowled. Wanting to change the subject so she wouldn’t have to move, she opened her mouth to complain about the heat and decided that wouldn’t do any good. Melinda would find her complaining another excuse to go inside. On the other hand, Gracie didn’t feel guilty about voicing her opinion. Being dissatisfied with the weather was human nature and not just one of her old age gripes. In the winter, everyone in Locked Rock complained about the knee deep snows and cold temperatures, and they grumbled about the heat and dry spells in the summer. When she farmed she spent most of each day outside, and she didn’t want that to change. Besides she came to the conclusion a long time ago if she had her pick of either miserable season, she’d choose summer. Her old bones could stand heat a sight better than cold, and after all, this was August. Mother Nature would cool the temperature down soon enough. In no time at all, she’d have no choice but to be stuck indoors. Gracie glanced from downtown to across the street, reminding herself she wouldn’t miss much now. Nothing interesting happened until darkness set in. She might as well give in to Melinda’s pleading, besides she was thirsty. "I reckon a glass of lemonade would hit the spot." Gripping the rocker arms, she strained to lift herself to her feet. She felt a twinge of envy, watching Melinda. That spray, little woman could get out of her rocker twice as fast and was already opening the screen door. As if from a long ways off, Gracie Evans heard the hushed squeaks made by her rocker answered by the rocker beside her. The hollow sound she made when she tapped her high top, black shoes against the porch floor, Melinda Applegate’s shoes echoed. In spite of herself, the rocking motion lulled Gracie. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head jerked, nodded and jerked again. She relaxed back against the rocker, and closed her eyes. Later that afternoon, Gracie stirred when sweat tickled her scalp beneath the two dark gray braids crowning her head. Feeling droplets seep from her hairline and trickle down her cheeks, she roused. She slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and pulled out a large, red handkerchief to swipe her face. Squaring her hunched shoulders, she straightened in her rocker and gave a slight shake of her head to clear it. The layers of calico and cotton petticoat she wore acted as a funnel to trap the uncomfortable heat radiating up from the floor. At that moment, she imagined she felt like the glass shade on a kerosene lamp that had just been lit, warming up and in a very short time too hot to touch. Gracie grabbed a handful of her brown skirt. She discreetly raised it just enough that her shoes showed and vigorously shook the material several times to let some of the hot air escape. The only other relief came when she stirred the breeze in front of her face by waving a paper fan in short, fast strokes. Silently, Gracie chided herself for dozing off, then excused her napping with the fact things were bound to be this way. Boredom is what she got in return for retiring from her farm. She straightened up and tried to read the black print on the large sign posted near the picket fence gate. She couldn’t make it out. Leaning forward, she squinted and failed again. At first, Gracie feared her eyesight had gone bad. With a measure of relief, she realized heat waves shimmering over the shaggy, brown grass blurred the words. She mumbled to herself, "No need to read the sign. I know it says Molly Moser’s Rest Home For Women. I ain’t too senile yet to remember where I live or that this town is Locked Rock, Iowa." She sighed and leaned back again. Every day, she tried to resign herself to the fact that Moser mansion would be where she’d live for the rest of her life. However, she saw no harm in wishing for some excitement to spice up the long days. Across the street, a door banged. Earl Bullock paused long enough in the shade of his house to straightened his straw hat, before he ambled toward Main Street. Gracie wondered if he or his wife, Sara, ever suspected what transpired next door to them at night. Out loud, she said, "Where do you suppose old Earl’s headed on such a hot afternoon? It’s not like him to leave home this time of day since this hot spell started." Melinda failed to answer. Gracie looked away from their neighbor long enough to glance beside her. Melinda stirred slightly. The petite woman raised her sagging head and mumbled, "He’s probably shopping for Sara. With as hot as it is, I’d send my husband to fetch for me if I had one." Gracie paused to think about that statement while she studied a string of black ants that paraded by her feet. As if the heat had got to them, the tiny insects struggled to crawl over the peeling, blue paint at the edge of the porch. Melinda’s idea seemed as good as any other for a person to be outdoors in the middle of the day, taking the full brunt of the unrelenting, August sun. That is, until she looked up to see Earl disappear through the saloon’s batwing doors. "It don’t appear Earl’s after anything for Sara unless she wants a beer. The last I knew, she’s a teetotaler. Not many folks in town this afternoon, Just lookee there where most of the buggies and wagons are parked. Over at the saloon hitch rack," Gracie criticized in her brassy voice. Melinda rubbed her eyes with her finger tips then leaned forward to peer around Gracie. "Humph," she replied, shaking her head with enough energy to cause her mass of gray curls to bounce like tiny springs. "I wonder at the way some people spend their time. I pray they’re as faithful about going to church as they are their patronage at that place." On days the weather permitted, Gracie and Melinda watched from the Victorian mansion’s large porch. Neighbor watching gave Gracie something to do besides sit and twiddle her thumbs. She considered it a harmless past time to while away the endless hours. Besides, it was downright obliging the way the neighbors divided up the day for her without knowing it. Gracie’s conscience plagued her a little for being nosy, but she’d excuse her actions. What she saw after dark she kept to herself. After all, she had her limits about what she’d repeat. What went on across the street at Rachel Simpson’s house she didn’t intend to share with anyone not even Melinda. As soon as their minds cleared from their nap, Gracie decided it was time to move to the north end of the porch in line with the Jordan house. Leaning forward, she plucked a heart shaped leaf that drooped down in the round opening. "Morning glories sure grow fast. I had our holes cleared awhile back." Gracie tilted her head toward one shoulder then leaned the other direction, inspecting the hole. "Can’t see a thing with all them leaves in the way," she growled. Tossing the leaf over the edge of the porch in behind the petunias, she snapped off another one. "Pect I’ll have to clear the holes in the other vines before you know it." She peeked through the hole to make sure her view was unobstructed. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she settled back in her rocker. A back door across the street banged. Dan Jordan came into sight, carrying a scrap pan and water pail. Dan’s large, watch dog, a black with white patches, slick haired mixed breed, lifted his head and uncurled in his hollowed out spot under the oak tree. He stood and stretched, watching Dan place the containers on the ground. When his master spoke, the dog’s tail wagged in rhythm with his swaying back end. He pattered to the man, dragging the clattering chain attached to the log, tool shed. Dan bent over and scratched the dog behind the ears, before he went back into the house. An hour passed. Gracie jerked out of her stupor at the sound of a slammed door. Quickly, she leaned forward to peek through her hole. Dan, a Jewel Tea Salesman, tromped down the porch steps with his wife, Mavis, right behind him. "Lookee there!" Tapping the floor with her foot to start her rocker, Gracie reached over and patted Melinda on the arm to wake her. "Mr. Jordan’s suited up for work with Magpie marching right behind him. She looks as mad as an old wet hen again." Gracie stopped rocking and straightened her bent shoulders. Pointing a crooked finger, her head bobbed up and down in anticipation of a good show. "Magpie sure favors that red dress. She wouldn’t look quite so stocky if she’d wear other colors. What do you think?" "I think you shouldn’t call her that name. One of these days you’ll slip and call her that to her face. Mark my words, from what we’ve seen of that woman’s temper lately, you’d be sorry you did," reproached Melinda. Grabbing her white blouse tacked to her ribs, she shook it. "I’m glad I left my corset off. It’s way too hot for that today. Maybe we should go sit in the parlor." "Hold your horses! Let’s see what the Jordans do first," barked Gracie. Dan, a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, halted abruptly at the end of the yard. He whirled around and peered down at his shrieking wife. "For Pete sakes, keep your voice down. The whole neighborhood will hear you." Mavis glanced around at the nearby houses and across at the mansion. Her face contorted. She defiantly squared herself in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Oh fiddlesticks! Those two old prunes on the Moser porch probably couldn’t hear a stick of dynamite go off if it was under one of their rockers so don’t put me off with that excuse. I want some answers, and I want them now," demanded Mavis, jabbing a finger in his chest. Gracie’s smile dried up, but she listened without comment. She knew Melinda was right about Mavis’s temper. It wouldn’t do to laugh at her peculiar habit of wearing the same red dress most of the time or at her thick, black hair pulled back in a large chignon, making her head look too big for her body. Not within range of her hearing anyway. "I told you I have a sales meeting. That’s why I’m going to be late. I’m looking to get a good commission from this kitchenware sale if I swing it. We can talk about anything you want when I get home. Now go in out of this heat, Sugar Pie. See you tonight," cooed Dan as he walked away. Waving her hands in the air, Mavis muttered to herself as she spun around and headed back to the house. Gracie cocked her head, straining to catch a word or two, but from that distance, she couldn’t make out what the angry woman mumbled. Sauntering down the street with his hands in his pants pockets, Dan whistled, In The Good Old Summertime. "Did you hear what Magpie said about us?" Gracie asked indignantly. "I heard, and did you hear what they said? They can see us sitting over here," worried Melinda, disturbed by that fact but a bit distracted as she watched Jordan calmly amble toward them. Noting the look on her companion’s face, Gracie stated what she thought Melinda was thinking. "It don’t seem right how easy that man can act as though nothing is wrong right after he has a fight with his wife." As the salesman strolled in front of the mansion, he glanced over at the porch as though he had just seen the women. Waving, he called, "Good afternoon, ladies." Gracie managed a curt nod before she looked away. She had no intention of acting as though his presence on the street was any concern of hers. In an attempt to be courteous, Melinda raised her hand in a half hearted wave. After Dan was out of hearing range, Gracie fumed, "I could tell that woman a thing or two about what we old prunes can hear and see. I ain’t that old. Could tell her a thing or two about her dudie husband, too." "Like what? He’s a good salesman. I bought an Autumn Leaf clock from him once." Melinda gave her a curious look. Gracie smoothed a wrinkle in her skirt and muttered quickly, "Ah, I’m just letting off steam." Inwardly, she chided herself for letting her tongue get ahead of her thinking. She thought she knew the reason behind the Jordan fights, but she had to be careful not to reveal more than she was willing to tell. "It wouldn’t be too smart to tell Mavis anything if you want to keep listening in on their fights. Would it?" Melinda waited, studying Gracie who took some time to think about her answer. "No, reckon it wouldn’t be smart atall." If the Jordans realized how well Melinda and she heard their fights, the couple might be more discreet. If that was to happen, Gracie didn’t see any reason to sit on the porch in the afternoon heat. "We should feel sorry for Mavis what with all the problems she has with her man. If she wasn’t so disagreeable all the time, she’d probably be a nice person," lectured Melinda, always looking for the best in everyone. Gracie studied the Jordan place thoughtfully for a moment. She shook her head. "I doubt it. She reminds me too much of Bessie Brown. She always stayed disagreeable just like Magpie. On her good days, I could walk right by her, and she’d stare mean like at me. Other times just looking at me was enough to make her want a fight." Melinda looked puzzled. "What did you do that upset this Bessie all the time?" "Nothing. That old gal was born plain mean just like Mavis Jordan." "Gracie, I doubt that anyone is born mean," disagreed Melinda. "How did you ever manage to make peace with Bessie?" "I shot her," said Gracie, calmly. "Oh, Gracie!" Melinda cried. Her face paled as her blue eyes widened. She slowly shook her head and managed to utter, "You didn’t do that, did you?" She leaned close and peered at Gracie intently. "You’re pulling my leg. Aren’t you?" "No, I’m not. It was either me or that cow. The older I got, the harder it was to get out of her way when she charged at me." "Oh my goodness! Bessie was a cow." Melinda took a deep breath and flopped back in her rocker, patting her chest. Giving Gracie’s admission some thought, she reconsidered. "But still in all, it seems to me that’s a drastic thing to do to your own cow." "At the time, I felt like that’s all I could do," answered Gracie, with a shrug of her shoulders. She studied a crack in the floor and traced it with the toe of her shoe to keep from looking at Melinda. "What do you say we go in for awhile out of this heat? Please," begged Melinda. "Let’s see if Aunt Pearlbee made some fresh lemonade." Gracie scowled. Wanting to change the subject so she wouldn’t have to move, she opened her mouth to complain about the heat and decided that wouldn’t do any good. Melinda would find her complaining another excuse to go inside. On the other hand, Gracie didn’t feel guilty about voicing her opinion. Being dissatisfied with the weather was human nature and not just one of her old age gripes. In the winter, everyone in Locked Rock complained about the knee deep snows and cold temperatures, and they grumbled about the heat and dry spells in the summer. When she farmed she spent most of each day outside, and she didn’t want that to change. Besides she came to the conclusion a long time ago if she had her pick of either miserable season, she’d choose summer. Her old bones could stand heat a sight better than cold, and after all, this was August. Mother Nature would cool the temperature down soon enough. In no time at all, she’d have no choice but to be stuck indoors. Gracie glanced from downtown to across the street, reminding herself she wouldn’t miss much now. Nothing interesting happened until darkness set in. She might as well give in to Melinda’s pleading, besides she was thirsty. "I reckon a glass of lemonade would hit the spot." Gripping the rocker arms, she strained to lift herself to her feet. She felt a twinge of envy, watching Melinda. That spray, little woman could get out of her rocker twice as fast and was already opening the screen door. Do you know this woman? If she had children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, Leona's family would like to hear from them. We have all sorts of family pictures and stories to share. Have you ever had a family mystery tale passed down through the generations. The story is usually elaborated on along the way. My southern Missouri family had one such mystery in the 1930’s. The mystery was the disappearance of my mother’s aunt. Aunt Leona was the sister of my mother’s father. She was five years older than my mother. The two of them saw a lot of each other when they were growing up. It was agreed by the family that Leona was very spoiled. She was born a few years after the other four children were about grown. Her mother gave her baby girl anything she asked for including nice clothes which were the envy of my mother who didn’t have nice things. The mystery took place in the Great Depression. Leona and her mother spent a lot of time making quilts. By the time she was in her mid twenties, Leona had a closet full of quilts stored for her hope chest. When she fell in love with a trucker, her parents disapproved. What they had against him was not clear. Who knows if Leona really loved him or just didn’t want to wind up an old maid. Nothing they said could change Leona’s mind so they gave her a fancy wedding in their front yard. According to a niece, one of Mom’s younger sisters, she wore a lovely white dress and large straw hat which in Depression times was considered expensive. A few days later, Leona’s husband brought her back to collect her closet full of quilts. They left and were never seen again. Did she leave of her own free will? Did he murder her? Was he the bad person Leona’s parents feared, and she just didn’t want to hear, "I told you so."? About fifteen years ago, I wrote to the reader to reader column in Capper’s, asking if anyone could help me find descendants of Aunt Leona. While I waited for a reply, I began to worry. In today’s world, the type of person who might answer my ad or show up to visit as a relative might not be to my liking. What had I let myself in for? As it turned out, I didn’t have anyone answer my request. A few years later, I wrote Specious Nephew, Book two in the Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. ISBN 1438248202 sold on my bookstore website http://www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com Let’s start with the word Specious in the title. This is the way my mother pronounced suspicious, but I was surprised to find that the word specious is in the dictionary. The pronunciation fits right in with my historical mystery. However, the word tends to give libraries the impression that I misspelled the word. I’ve seen my book acknowledged in a library notice where in the title the word had been changed to suspicious to help me out. The premise of the story is that Moser Mansion For Women resident Melinda Applegate hasn’t any family close by to invite to a special wedding for the Moser Mansion owner’s back yard wedding. So she sends a plea to the reader to reader column. If she has relatives she would like to hear from them. Unlike me, Melinda gets an answer. A young man, Jeffrey Armstrong, shows up just in time for the wedding. He claims to be Melinda’s nephew. She’s more than willing to believe him, but Gracie Evans is not. He appears to be a con artist after what little money Melinda has. Gracie tries to warn the Moser residents but not one of them listens to her so she is determined to prove the man is up to no good. Next week, I’ll give you an excerpt to show you why Gracie thinks the man is dishonest. Neighbor Watchers - Amazing Gracie Mystery Series - ISBN 1438246072 Gracie and Melinda find out snooping on the neighbors can be scary. Twilight settled around them by the time Gracie elbowed Melinda. "Wake up, sleepy head. You had too big a day what with that birthday party. You might as well go to bed already." Melinda’s head jerked. She blinked. "What time is it?" "You’re the one with the new timepiece. You tell me," cracked Gracie. "That’s right." Melinda smiled down proudly at her brooch. She pushed on the latch, the cover opened, and the music began. Frowning, she squinted at it. "It’s too dark to tell. Did I miss anything?" She slurred her words in the middle of a yawn. Shutting the cover, she squinted to look through her hole at Rachel’ house. "Nothing," said Gracie, disappointed. She swatted at a mosquito buzzing near her ear, " there ain’t going to be anything happen so we might as well go to bed." "How do you know?" "Rachel just lit the lamp in her living room. It’s a plain fact, when she has a light on nothing happens." Gracie gripped her rocker arms to boost herself to a standing position. "Wait," Melinda hissed. She grabbed Gracie’s arm to stop her from getting up. "What’s the matter?" Gracie barked. "Sh! Someone just came from behind Sara’s house up to the side door. It’s Dan Jordan again." "That’s strange," Gracie puzzled, a dread surging through her as she watched the big man enter the house. Trying to reason away the alarming premonition she felt as her senses going haywire, she continued, "The lamp’s on so it has be an unscheduled visit." She perked up, thinking that things could get interesting if a scheduled caller showed up while Dan was there. About fifteen minutes later, Gracie felt the sting of disappointment when no one else came before Jordan slipped out the side door. He disappeared into the darkness. His large silhouette came into view, moving fast amid the shadows toward downtown. "That visit didn’t take long tonight," surmised Melinda, dryly. "No, it didn’t. Rachel’s putting the lamp out now so we might as well go to bed," Gracie grumped. She grasped the rocker arms and started to stand up. "Wait!" Melinda hissed. Grabbing Gracie’s forearm, the little lady applied pressure to jerk Gracie back down. "Ouch! Let go of my arm. It’s full of rheumatism. That hurts. What’s the matter with you?" Gracie grimaced, glaring at Melinda while she vigorously rubbed her arm. "There’s someone else sneaking up to Rachel’s side door. Look!" Melinda tilted her body over the side of her rocker for a better view around the vine. Leaning forward, Gracie peered through her hole. With what she saw, she completely forgot the pain in her arm. "Don’t that beat all. Looks like a woman." "It does indeed. Oh my, what’s this town coming to. Rachel’s house is dark, and a woman’s going into it,"moaned Melinda. "Hush up before she hears you," hissed Gracie. "Let’s see how long she stays. Wonder who she is?" "Don’t ask me. It’ too dark to tell," grumbled Melinda. A little more than half an hour passed before the side door opened. The dark form stuck her head out to look around. She eased out, gently shut the door and flattened against the house. After a few seconds, she moved to leave, turning her back to dissolve into the darkness. Suddenly, a lamp, lit in the Bullock house, cast a yellow stream, spotlighting the woman. Blanketed with light, she jerked her head in the direction of the window. Backing up, she flattened against the house again. The light reflected off something in her hand that gave off a golden twinkle middle ways of the woman’s skirt. She twirled around to face the mansion. Automatically, Gracie shrank back in her rocker. Melinda, with a barely audible gasp, slapped her trembling hand against her chest and bumped the brooch latch. Sentimental Journey cut the silence. "Shut that thing up," ordered Gracie in a hushed voice. Melinda smacked the cover. The click seemed deafening. Afraid to move, Gracie tried hard not to breathe. The woman stared intently in their direction. After a moment that seemed to last forever, she turned and melted out of sight. At the same time, the two ladies inhaled deeply. Gracie snapped in a lowered voice, "That was real great of you, Melinda. You just had to play your little tune for that woman so she’d know we’re over here." "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that," Melinda defended herself. "I reckon you didn’t but that watch is too dang loud." Gracie caught herself and focused her attention across the street. It was too late to take back what she said. She could imagine the hurt look covering Melinda’ face at the insult to her new watch. "Well, she’d have to have mighty good hearing from all the way across the street, I reckon," relented Gracie. In spite of herself, she added, "But you better pray she didn’t hear." "Amen," replied Melinda, fervently. "We sure know who that woman is now in that red dress," said Gracie, still unable to believe her eyes. Nervous but curious at the same time, she wondered why Mavis visited Rachel. "I saw, but I’m praying right now she didn’t see us. Mavis is a wild cat when she’s riled, and she didn’t appear to want anyone seeing her. Why do you reckon she sneaked into that young woman’ dark house?" "Don’t know. I wouldn’t figure those two ladies to be on friendly terms, especially that friendly. What do you suppose that was shining in her hand?" Gracie pondered. "Maybe it was a firefly’s tail." "That was too big a shine to be a firefly. No, she had something in her hand." "I couldn’t tell much. It was too dark." Melinda searched across the street for movement. Her voice quivered as she said, "We better go in now." Attracted to the dim light in the hall, insects splattered against the screen door, sounding like fingernails noises, Gracie glanced from one end of the porch to the other to make sure they were alone. All of a sudden, squawks, cackles and flapping wings along with the robust crowing of a startled rooster came from the Bullock back yard. Melinda grabbed Gracie’ arm again. "Listen!" "I hear," grouched Gracie, jerking her arm out of Melinda’ grasp. In a moment, Sara’s voice penetrated the darkness, yelling from back of her house, " Get away from my chickens, you varmint." Minutes later behind the Jordan’s house, the German shepherd barked ferociously. Gracie listened to the dog’s chain clink on the ground until he reached the end of it. A bang reverberated when the chain refused to give anymore. His frenzied barking kept up for a minute, followed by a loud yelp. Then came nothingness. "Listen," Gracie tittered. "Mavis ran over Sara’s chicken pen in the dark. Serves her right! She better have been quick about getting into her house, or Sara saw her sure." Then Gracie turned serious. "Sounds like she hit her dog to quieted him down after she stirred him up." "Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I’ve had enough excitement for one night. I’m going inside before Mavis thinks better of it and decides to come see if we’re really here. Besides I’m ready to go to bed and cry for a little while," said Melinda, stifling a yawn. Giving Melinda an incredulous look, Gracie considered her last remark and decided that was the strangest thing to say. "Why on earth would you want to bawl?" "I had such a good time today while everyone made a fuss over me at the birthday party, but now it’s over. I feel like a good cry, because I probably won’t ever get another birthday party like this one," lamented Melinda. "Well, I’m going to bed to sleep," said Gracie, struggling to get out of her rocker for the third time. "And you better remember to pray before you go to sleep." I’ve heard it said everyone has a look alike in this world. Recently, I met at least one woman who believes that to be true in my case. I was in the local farm supply store. One of the employees stopped stocking a shelf when she saw me push my shopping cart by her. She came to meet me. "Did you come after your syringe?" That took me by surprise. I answered, "No." "Don’t you need it now for the sick puppy?" "Guess not," I replied. "I don’t have a puppy." The young woman colored up. "You aren’t who I thought. A woman stopped me at the grocery store the other day. She said the medicine she bought for her puppy had a broken syringe in it. When she comes in she wanted me to replace the syringe. You sure do look just like her." I don’t think I’ve ever met two people I thought looked identical, but I’ve known people that had some characteristics that were the same and others characteristics that made them the different individuals they were. My paying attention to the difference in people helps me form the characters I write about. Take for instance, Gracie Evans in my Amazing Gracie Mystery Series. In the last years of her life the real Gracie was a cantankerous, independent woman. She wore the facade of being hardened by a life filled with disappointments and hardships. Under that facade was a soft heart and a fondness for children. Once I made it past her crusty exterior, we became friends. In 2000, I read some of the Miss Marple detective books by Agatha Christie. Miss Christie’s main character intrigued me. Imagine an elderly, observant woman, quietly sitting in the middle of a murder investigation, knitting a scarf without missing a stitch while she solves the mystery. Miss Jane Marple was a proper English woman with perfect manners. My Gracie Evans was the total opposite, but just as interesting and very infinitely her own person. So since I like mysteries, I decided to give writing one a go as Miss Marple might say. Except my detective is a Midwestern, spinster, farmer who has spent her whole life taking care of herself just like the real Gracie. Where better to place her to live than central Iowa. After all I know that area best. Her job as a farmer was easy since that is what the real Gracie did for a living. Why not start with her retirement and move to a rest home for women in a small town? After all, I know quite a bit about today’s nursing home, elderly characteristics and caring for the elderly. That was my job. While I was working on book one of the series, I told the real Gracie what I was doing. She gave me a pleased smile when I told her she was my inspiration and asked me several questions about the book. Then the subject was never brought up again. For her, every day worries about her health and remembering to have the television on when "The Young and The Restless" came on were the most important things in her life. If my Gracie had lived long enough to read my book, I think she’d have been pleased. Here is the synopsis. Next Tuesday I’ll give an excerpt from the book. "Neighbor Watchers" Amazing Gracie Series - Book one - ISBN 1438246072 In 1903, Gracie Evans, a retired spinster farmer, moves into Moser Mansion’s Rest Home For Women in Locked Rock, Iowa. She wrestles with feeling of boredom. After living on the family farm, Three Oaks, all her life, town life was hard to get used to. Gracie finds it hard to co-mingle with one of the other residents. Libby Hook is a set in her ways, particular, outspoken woman just like Gracie. Now Melinda Applegate is a different story. She is meek and gentle and only speaks her mind when shoved into it. Gracie befriends Melinda. Together they rock on the mansion’s front porch behind vines Gracie tore peek holes in so they can watch the neighbors. Behind the morning glory vine, they hear as well as see a couple across the street have a daily spat. Hidden back of the clematis vine, they watch the retired couple which Gracie says is about as exciting as watching an old dog chase his tale. What they see behind the honeysuckle is a different story. The young woman across the street is a lady of the evening. Using the excuse that it’s too hot to go to bed, Gracie and Melinda stay up past their bedtime to see which of the town’s men visit Rachel Simpson. When Rachel is murdered, Gracie and Melinda know who came out of her house the night before, but are afraid to tell the sheriff without proof. Gracie is determined to find something that will get the killer arrested before the mansion’s residents end up dead, too. |
A woman that has worn many hats in my life time. Join me here and find out about those hats.
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