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Kindle Nation Daily Free Book Alert, Thursday, February 10: Will Randy Readers Race to Rip the Raunchy Reads That Have Just Been Added to the List of Over 200 Kindle Freebies? plus … Gary Ponzo’s Hard-Boiled Bestseller A Touch Of Deceit (Today’s Sponsor)

It happens every few months, all at once, and it has happened today: Amazon has swelled the ranks of its free contemporary titles in the Kindle Store with a substantial addition of free “erotica” titles. They turn up at the top of the list because they’re the newest listings. Some will love them, some will hate them, and some just won’t care, but judging from the evidence of past offerings’ Kindle Store sales rankings, they will get a lot of love. And if you are looking for great literature from a traditional publisher, HarperCollins has mixed in a free pre-order of How To Marry a Millionaire Vampire, with Bonus Material!

But first, a word from … Today’s Sponsor

Free is always nice, but here’s a truly great read for just $1.99 more:
Sicilian-American FBI agent, Nick Bracco, recruits his mafia cousin to chase down the world’s most feared terrorist in this fabulous award-winning Kindle Exclusive bestseller….

“I can’t make myself read the last few pages. I just don’t want this story to end.”

–McMack, AFTD

A Touch of Deceit (Nick Bracco Series)
by Gary Ponzo
4.8 out of 5 stars   32 Reviews
Text-to-Speech: Enabled 
Don’t have a Kindle? Get yours here.
Everything A Thriller Should Be – And More!



Here’s the set-up:
Winner of the Southwest Writers Novel Contest, Thriller category!

FBI agent Nick Bracco can’t stop a Kurdish terrorist from firing missiles at random homes across the country. The police can’t stand watch over every household, so Bracco recruits his cousin Tommy to help track down this terrorist. Tommy is in the Mafia. Oh yeah, it gets messy fast. As fast as you can turn the pages.


What the Reviewers Say
“”A Touch of Deceit” is a cleverly written thriller with plenty of twists and turns, action, and strong dialogue to keep you turning the pages well into the night. The characters show strength and depth. The plot moves quickly, leaving the reader to want more. The dialogue is direct and well written. Gary Ponzo is an author that everyone should add to their reading list. I highly recommend for thriller, suspense, and mystery fans.”
–Jennifer Chase, Author, Dead Game & Compulsion


“The author has created a wonderful story, and crafted an adventure thriller with many twists and turns and a satisfying ending. He skillfully weaves a story where the Mafia culture blends with the FBI as they try to overcome major differences of philosophy to work together to solve a deadly terrorist plot. The story is packed with fast-paced action along with a mixture of contemporary issues, and a touch of humor as well. Excellent.”
–Readers Favorite, Vine Voice 
Five times Five stars.  A truly thrilling read. The edgy dialogue grabs you in an instant and won’t let you go. The characters–FBI agents and Mobsters alike–are as diverse as they are likeable, but Kemel Kharrazi? You want to kill that slimewad yourself. Jason Bourne’s life is boring compared to FBI agent Nick Bracco’s. Bracco’s odd foibles and endearing idiosyncrasies come to life as he tries to rein in Kharrazi before Kharazzi incinerates Washington, D.C. Nick falls behind in the game and is forced to call upon his Mobbed-up cousin Tommy for “support and guidance.” After that anything goes in trying to stop Kharrazi before he destroys the nation’s capital. Nothing–no tactic, no ruse, no alliance–is out of bounds. They stop him by. . . Come to think of it, maybe they don’t stop him. I can’t make myself read the last few pages. I just don’t want this story to end.”
McMack, AFTD
About the Author


Author Gary Ponzo began his writing career over a decade ago by writing short stories. He quickly discovered a knack for the short form. In just five years he’d published seven short stories in various publications, two of which were nominated for the very prestigious Pushcart Prize.

His first novel, “A Touch of Deceit,” took five years to write and one to pick clean. The story was born from his childhood experiences working in his father’s candy store in Brooklyn, NY. His father was Sicilian and became friendly with some local members of a different kind of Sicilian family. Since Gary was just fifteen at the time, these family members would make sure he was protected whenever he would work late at night by himself. He soon discovered a side to the mafia not many people knew. It was these relationships which caused him to write about Sicilian FBI agent, Nick Bracco, who recruits his mafia cousin to chase down the world’s most feared terrorist.

A Touch of Deceit,” went on to win the 2009 Southwest Writers Novel Contest, Thriller category. He is working on the sequel to the novel as well as continuing to publish his short stories. Gary currently lives in Phoenix, Arizona with his wife Jennifer and two children, Jessica and Kyle.


Click here to download A Touch of Deceit (Nick Bracco Series) (or a free sample) to your Kindle, iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, BlackBerry, Android-compatible, PC or Mac and start reading within 60 seconds!

UK CUSTOMERS: Click on the title below to download

Each day’s list is sponsored by one paid title. We encourage you to support our sponsors and thank you for considering them.
Authors, Publishers, iPad Accessory Manufacturers:
Interested in learning more about sponsorship? Just click on this link for more information.

Free Contemporary Titles in the Kindle Store 
HOW TO USE OUR NEW FREE BOOK TOOL:

Just use the slider at right of your screen below to scroll through a complete, updated list of free contemporary Kindle titles, and click on an icon like this one (at right) to read a free sample right here in your browser! Titles are sorted in reverse chronological order so you can easily see new freebies.

Sporting Wood
By: Cindy Spencer Pape
Added: 02/10/2011 3:01:42am
Second Sight Dating
By: Marianne Stephens
Added: 02/10/2011 3:01:39am
Saying Yes
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Remembered Love
By: Diana Hunter
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Most Unpopular Workday of the Year
By: Ashlyn Chase
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How To Marry a Millionaire Vampire with Bonus Material
By: Kerrelyn Sparks
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Emerald Green
By: Desiree Holt
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Discovering Sofia
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Raising the Dead
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Admit One: My Life in Film
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Overhauling America's Healthcare Machine: Stop the Bleeding and Save Trillions
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4 Investing Fundamentals Everyone Needs
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Supercharge Your Social Media Strategies (Collection)
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A Time to Love (Quilts of Lancaster County Series #1)
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Vanished
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I Love You This Much: A Song of God's Love
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Talk of the Town
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A Promise to Remember
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Hara's Legacy: Resonance Mates, Book 1
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Candle in the Darkness (Refiner's Fire, Book 1)
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The Choice (Lancaster County Secrets, Book 1)
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Just Right: The Bradfords, Book 1
By: Erin Nicholas
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Master the SAT: The Writing Process and the SAT Essay
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Master the SAT: Mulitple-Choice Math Strategies
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Master the ASVAB--ASVAB Subject Review
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Green Careers in Energy
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Imaginary Jesus
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Listen
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The One Year Book of Devotions for Couples
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Nutrition Diva's 5 Secrets for Aging Well
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Medicus: A Novel of the Roman Empire
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The n00b Warriors (Book One)
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Origins (Spinward Fringe)
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Necromancer: A Novella
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Dead Drop: A Lawson Vampire Bonus Story
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Origin Scroll
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Award-Winning Author and Editor Kathryn Lively Takes Us on a Musical Mystery Tour in Today’s Kindle Nation eBook of the Day, Dead Barchetta – Here’s a Free Sample!

Armed only with his instrument, tribute band guitarist Matt “Lerxst” Johnston escapes his beach home and hides out in New York City as the body count rises in Kathryn Lively’s edgy thrillride Dead Barchetta –  just $2.99 on Kindle!

Here’s the set-up:

Music tutor by day and tribute band guitarist by night, Matt “Lerxst” Johnston doesn’t have an enemy in the world…so he thinks. One night a pretty young woman tries to smother him in his sleep, and it’s not for the usual reasons a woman would have for wanting to inflict harm upon him! The dream he enjoyed at the time quickly spirals into a nightmare of mistaken identities and nosy investigators who threaten Lerxst’s freedom, to say nothing of coming close to discovering his grandmother’s secret “herb garden.”


Armed only with a guitar and endless questions, Lerxst escapes the discomfort of his beach home and hides out in New York City to learn the true identity of his would-be assailant. Instead he learns more about himself and what he needs to do to survive the next attempt on his life.

And what a long, strange trip it is…  

About the Author:

Kathryn Lively is an award-winning writer and editor, and executive editor of Phaze Books.  She is an EPIC Award nominee and has edited EPIC Award nominated titles for Phaze Books, Whiskey Creek Press, and FrancisIsidore ePress. She also maintains a pen name, L.K. Ellwood, for other mysteries.

Kathryn assists businesses with Virginia Beach social media services, and also works as a freelance writer.

And here, in the comfort of your own browser, is your free sample:

IF YOU ARE READING THIS POST ON YOUR KINDLE, JUST ENTER 
INTO YOUR COMPUTER OR TABLET  BROWSER TO READ THE FREE SAMPLE!

Free Kindle Nation Shorts – February 10, 2011: An Excerpt from Class Collision: Fall from Grace, a novel by Annette Mackey

What does it mean when an indie novel comes out of nowhere to score a better than 4.9-star rating from 12 Amazon reviews?

Well, certainly no book is intended to please everyone, but I’ve got to say that when you look beyond the ratings and read the actual reviews for Annette Mackey’s sweet but nicely textured hi

Annette Mackey

storical romance Class Collision: Fall from Grace, she has accomplished something pretty remarkable for a first-time indie author.

The first rave review that I read was written by Avni, age 17, who couldn’t put it down, but then, when she finished it, she said “I passed it onto my neighbor for her to read. She read it in about three hours and was then banging on my door to talk to me about how amazing she thought this book was.”

By the time I got to the last review, it was clear to me that readers of all ages had found something special in this novel, and reviewer Margaret Williams put the icing on the cake when she shared this:

“The book is obviously written to a younger audience, and I am in my 80’s. Nevertheless, I found that it held my attention through all of the story. I loved the setting in the depression era. That’s when I grew up so that part of it was endearing to me. I especially liked the way the author described the emotional feelings of her characters. It felt real. I look forward to the sequel with great anticipation.”

Just so.

Here’s the set-up, followed by a link to the author’s generous 10,000-word excerpt:

  

Class Collision: Fall From Grace

by Annette Mackey  
Kindle Edition

 

List Price: $2.99

Buy Now 

 

 
What if you didn’t know your boyfriend was worth millions

Born into wealth and privilege, David spends his days rattling the servants and torturing the maid until he is kidnapped for ransom and left for dead. Grueling years follow until he meets Linda.
She’s sassy, pigheaded, beautiful and way more than he can possibly handle. Hate, love and passion combine as he tries to win her heart. She sees him as a drifter. Little does she know he’s a prince in disguise.

Set during the Great Depression, Class Collision will transport you to a simpler time filled with heartache and unexpected love.

  
Click here to download Class Collision  (or a free sample) to your Kindle, iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, BlackBerry, Android-compatible, PC or Mac and start reading within 60 seconds!

  


or  

by Annette Mackey

Kindle Edition

 

List Price: $2.99

Buy Now

Free Kindle Nation Shorts – February 10, 2011    
An Excerpt from 
 

Class Collision:

Fall from Grace

a novel  by Annette Mackey      
Copyright © 2010, 2011 by Annette Mackey and published here with her permission

 

Chapter 7
The Collision

    It was dark and cold. David’s head rolled as he emerged from the blackness. For a minute he thought it had been a dream. Then, with a start, he realized that he was not home in his bed. He had been attacked! With every ounce of effort, he forced his eyes open and tried to focus. Odd. What were his shirt and tie doing there? He was not lying down, but rather his head was hanging as he sat in a chair. Ah, he thought, now it made sense.  
    Incrementally, he began to hear through muffled ears. Someone was crying, no … sobbing. Groggily, David raised his head, and it swayed in response. Alex was a few feet away, tied with a rope across his chest and his arms behind his back in a small wooden chair. Puzzled, he looked down at his own chest again. Strange, he had not seen the rope there before. Then he realized pain in his arms and wrists, a burning sensation that increased dramatically as he became more aware. He, too, was strapped from behind, but with what, barbed wire? Irritated, he wondered why his antagonists had stretched his arms so tightly. Didn’t they realize the job could have been done without causing so much pain? And what was this rope drawn down across his legs for? Were they going on a Ferris wheel? Really!
    Nearly fully awake, he looked at Alex who was sniffling. David felt a surge of anger. Crying at a time like this was not going to help matters. Irritated, he looked away.
    “I’m sorry,” Alex said with a quiver.  
    David swung his head back around, and it flopped in response from the lingering drugs.
    “I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you said you were scared.” Alex started to cry harder, despite his obvious effort to control his voice.
    Although he was embarrassed for Alex, David was suddenly more embarrassed for himself as he recollected the way he had acted. Hearing Alex verbalize it was even worse. Wanting to change the subject he spoke. “Do you know what’s going on, Alex? Who were those men, and what do they want?”
    “I don’t know,” Alex trembled. “I only woke up just a few minutes before you. I don’t know anything.” Alex sniffled as a few more tears dribbled.
    If he hadn’t acted so peculiar himself, David might have word-lashed Alex right out of his hysteria, but seeing as he had just met those unwelcome emotions, he decided to let it go. Instead, he looked around the room hoping for a clue. Just then, Alex burst out.
    “What’s going on here, David? Obviously you know something. You’re the one that said we shouldn’t go down to the car!”
    “Shhh!” David shot back. “They’ll hear you.”
    “Who? Who’s going to hear? David, you had better let me in on this or so help me-“
    David cut him off in a loud whisper, “I have no idea, Alex! But I’ll tell you one thing, it’s pretty dumb to sit here crying about it.”
    “Oh sure, now you’re the tough guy. You little wimp. I saw you! You were shivering like a chicken liver.”
    “Fine, Alex, I was scared as a chicken liver,” David emphasized. “Are you happy now?”
    Sheer raw emotion had taken over. “Act like it was nothing. I’ve never seen anyone so terrified in my entire life.”
    David glared at his words. “Will you just stop so I can think?” He tried to keep his voice down, but like Alex, he, too, was tense. The combination of the situation and the lingering drugs blurred his mind in a most unsettling manner.  
    “You’re just a big phony,” Alex snarled. “I heard you whimpering at the conservatory, and I’ll never let you forget it. You treat everybody as if they were nothing. But you’re no better.”
    Alex continued to rant, but David didn’t care. They were in trouble, and somebody had to take the lead. He noted how dark it was outside and wondered how much time had passed. He thought of Clifford’s reaction when he had buried the Spanish coins and wondered if his parents had been informed yet. Poor Mother. She had been through enough to last a lifetime.
    Alex’s ranting continued. “… You think you’re so special, so much better than the rest of us. Well, let me tell you something, mister, you’re just the same as everybody else. The only differences is that you’ve never had to deal with anyone so spectacularly and magnificently irritating. That’s why you can’t understand how other people feel. And what’s more, you’ve got no social skills! None whatsoever. You think you’re so superior, but you’re not! Oh, except that, of course, you’re really good at playing the puppet and, well, I hate to be the one to break it to you because it’s going to come as a total shock, but you’re totally stuck-up and irritating and downright rude with your I’m better than you attitude …”
    “Oh, brother,” David spat. Alex had to take this opportune time to fall to pieces. Great. Just great. It looked like David was going to have to figure things out on his own. He turned his attention back to the inside of the room. The floor was tile, and there were several desks shoved against the far wall. As his senses awakened, he became painfully aware of a miserable rotting stench, like molding socks. Err … At least it smelled the way he imagined dirty socks would smell. Having never smelled such a thing, he was left to his imagination.  
    Frustrated, he pulled at his arms. This hurt! How was he supposed to concentrate when his arms were slowly being pulled from their sockets?
    “Can you see anyone out that door?” David whispered, interrupting Alex who was still in the process of venting every real and imagined oppression that he had ever endured in his life.
    Surprised, Alex stopped. “Uh … ” he sputtered, startled back to reality.  
    “Well?” David pressed.
    Alex stretched his neck as far as he could. “No,” he whispered still craning. He had been so busy ranting that he had totally lost track of the current situation.  
    “They must not be here, or they would have come when they heard us talking,” David reasoned aloud as he tried to scoot his chair toward Alex’s. His unknown adversary had tied each foot very tightly to a different leg of the chair. Only his toes reached the floor, making each inch gained with a wince of pain. His unaccustomed body immediately set his brain to work on the abuses he would inflict on his abductors once they were brought to justice. Chinese water torture for one. He heard it was quite effective.
    “Why do you think they took us? I mean, brought us here like this?” Alex asked. “We haven’t done anything. Have … have you … done anything?”
    Sometimes David wondered at Alex. How could he be the oldest? He was so stupidly naїve. “They probably kidnapped us for ransom.”
    “Kidnapped? They kidnapped us?”
    David stopped his efforts momentarily to give Alex an even bigger look of dismay. “What would you call it?”
    “Well … I don’t know. I guess … I … didn’t think,” he admitted.
    “I’ll say.” Then in irritation he shot out, “Do I have to do all the work here? Maybe you could work toward me too.”
    Understanding smacked across Alex’s face, and he immediately sprang into action, if you could call scooting inch-by-inch “springing.”
    After a few minutes of agonizingly slow progress, they were in position, back to back. “Okay,” David whispered, “hold still while I try to untie you.”
    “Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Alex began to doubt the intelligence of the plan. “What if they come back? I don’t think they’ll be too happy to catch us like this.”
    “Be quiet and concentrate,” David ordered.
    “I’m holding still, how much concentration does it take?”
    “Then pipe down so that I can concentrate!”
    “You know, David, Mother would never believe what a pain you really are. Have you ever noticed that you never listen to anybody but yourself? Oh no. You’ve always got to be in charge. You are two years my junior, and it gets annoying! Even now, when we are both tied up, who gives the orders? David, always David. I’ve about had it.”
    “Could you pleeeease?”
    “You see? Still giving orders!”
    “For Pete’s sake. I think you’re trying to be difficult.”
    “Don’t turn this around on me!”
    “How much effort does it take? You press your lips together and voilà, closed mouth, hence silence.”
    David continued to work on the ropes as they argued. Despite the quarrel, he did make some considerable progress. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to them, an exterior door had opened and shut during the course of their argument, giving an advantage to the unforgiving stranger that was now upon them.
    “What’s this?”
    Alex and David both looked up to see a tall, unkempt man with sandy hair standing in the doorway wearing tattered brown pants and suspenders that rolled over a once-muslin shirt. David recognized him immediately as the man who had pulled him inside the car.
    “Why you lit’le weasels,” the man whom they would come to know as Willy spoke with a broken English accent. “Eh, Beez, we got ourselves some ‘neakers here, we do.”
    A shorter, heavier man with dark hair came into the room. The very man who stood watching that day when David insulted the beggar woman and her child.  
    Beez wore suit pants and a white shirt with several buttons undone at the top and sleeves rolled to the elbows. A cigarette hung from his mouth as he leaned one hand on the doorframe. Rolling the cigarette with his lips, he summed up the situation. His voice was soft and gritty. “So here you are, back to back. That’s not the way we left ya,” he said as he paced circles around the boys. “What’s a matter? Ya sick o’ lookin’ at each other?” He spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent.
    David looked directly into the man’s dark eyes and protruded his chin in challenge. Alex preferred to look at the floor, hoping beyond hope that his lack of eye contact would dismiss him from the conversation.
    “Huuhhh?!!” the man shouted.
    By raising his voice, David surmised that they were in the country, away from eager ears.
    Beez’s volatile temperament was on the verge of exploding. “Just what do you think you was doing?”
    “That’s just what I was about to ask you.” David spoke with authority. “I demand you release us. Now!”
    Beez inhaled deeply then flicked the smoldering cigarette across the floor, the butt still glowing as it came to a spinning stop. He crouched and breathed the soot into David’s face causing his eyes to water as he coughed.  
    Beez remained inches from his face, studying, until without warning, he threw David’s chair across the room in a single heaving motion. The chair landed at an angle on two legs as it screeched and teetered to the floor with a crash on its side. Unable to compensate, David’s head clunked down with a sickening thud on the tile.
    “That’s where I left ya,” Beez proclaimed and pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket. “Rich brat,” he muttered as he turned for the door. He snapped his fingers at Willy. “Take care o’ the other one,” he said as he left.
    Willy’s eyes had glazed over as if watching a scene at the theater. Instantly, he snapped and tightened Alex’s ropes as Alex let out a soft grunt of pain. Then Willy unleashed a painful smack across Alex’s face with the back of his hand. Alex’s head jerked to one side from the impact. Satisfied, he went to David and cinched his ropes tighter before turning to leave. With obvious satisfaction, he left David lying motionless on the cold tile floor.
    Alex stared at the closed door then back at David, then at the door again. Finally, he whispered. “Are you all right?” His voice was breathy and hoarse with fear. The only light came from beneath the door. “David?” Alex pressed. He couldn’t call any louder for fear that the men would return and with that thought he started to hyperventilate. “David,” he continued to whisper as he breathed in heaps.
    David’s head was spinning, leaving him unable to answer. Halfway between two worlds, the conscious and unconscious, and still swimming in a sea of lingering drugs, he couldn’t manage a word. He felt the warmth of acid threatening in his mouth as it spilled in his throat. The smoldering cigarette that lay near his face only made matters worse.
    “David …” Alex continued to huff in hyperventilation. “David … are you okay?”
    “I’m fine,” David finally managed to muster. No matter how bad the pain, he couldn’t stand the idea that Alex might learn of it. He was tied to a tipped chair with ropes tearing at his flesh, his head reeling from the combined assault of trauma and drugs and the fear of imminent vomit. This was bad, and Alex wanted to know if he was okay? No. He was notokay, but he wasn’t going to say it.  
    He closed his eyes and imagined the Virginia coastline with a cool ocean breeze. Mind over matter, mind over matter, that’s all it takes. Mind over matter. A few minutes later, his mind lost the matter as he puked it from his guts in heave after heave. Thankfully, there wasn’t much to expel. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast so the putrid regurgitation was mostly water and acid with an occasional lump here and there.
    Alex looked on in horror through the darkness. “I don’t think you’re okay,” he commented dryly, turning his head so that he wouldn’t join in vomiting as David heaved again and again. “Nope nope,” he said shaking his head against the malodorous smell. “Definitely not okay.”
    When it was over, David tried to rest his head, only to realize that doing so would settle him right in the middle of the puddle of vomit. “Fresh mountain snow, big puffy clouds, cool autumn breezes,” he mumbled to himself. It was a difficult process. The acidic soup lay only inches from his face. To his grave misfortune, the idea that he would be sleeping in it combined with the smell made him heave again … And again … One more time.
    The muscles in his abdomen ached from the pressure as the violent process wreaked havoc. What he wouldn’t give for the use of his hands. It would be worth every single last Spanish coin. At this point, for a damp, soothing washcloth, he would even throw in his loyal feline. This drip-dry business was no fun at all. Where was Clifford when he needed him? And Mother … she would wipe his sweaty forehead with a cloth and talk in soft, soothing tones. He thought of how she would rub his arms down as he lay on the bed and pictured her silken hair shining in the glow of a dim lamp. Reluctantly, he released the tension in his neck and let the upper half of his head rest in the pool. With a grimace, he closed his eyes against the odor. The room was still turning. Wishing it to be still, he opened his eyes. No such luck. Halfway around, then back again. Too tired. Too tired … He rested back as the smell drifted. Sleep … was all … he … wanted.
    Alex couldn’t understand why David had thrown up. And sleep? It was unbelievable and totally unfair. What a brother! Bossy, pretentious, proud, and able to sleep in any position.  
    “There I go again,” he chastised. “I’ve got to stop.” His penny-ante side was taking over again, but it was hard to believe that some part of this wasn’t David’s fault. Nobody liked him. He must have done something to someone. He must be to blame. He must.
    But then, he was Alex’s best friend.

Chapter 8
Maniac
   

Friday before Thanksgiving, 1931 …
    Dawn approached and with it, the revelation of the grungy state of their new residence. The building was noticeably run-down with piles of junk heaped everywhere. There was a puddle of water near where David lay, remnants of the last rain, and what looked to be a bunch of desks the night before was really three desks piled amidst rubble and demolition waste shoved along the opposite wall.  
    Between the boarded windows, thick grime, and soot, Alex could see a field of sorts, one which looked long-since abandoned, with an old tractor rusting under a nearby dead tree.
    Just then, David moaned. Since he had been doing that all night, Alex wasn’t sure if it meant anything. He moaned again, and then spoke.  
    “Is it morning?”
    “Yes. How are you feeling?” Alex tried to sound concerned. Through the course of the night, his sympathy for David had grown, partly out of guilt and partly out of duty.
    David raised his head a few inches. The vomit had dried in crusty clumps that stuck to his hair like bad gel from the dime-store sales rack. The area of his head that had been resting in the pool was still damp and dripped slightly.  
    “Awful.”
    “Yeah, well, you don’t look so good either.” Alex’s own wrists were throbbing. He couldn’t imagine how David’s must feel.
    David set his head back down. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
    “I think it’s about eight o’clock.”
    “I wonder what everyone is doing at home.”
    “Probably eating breakfast. Boy, what you won’t do to get out of oatmeal,” he teased, hoping to lighten the moment.
    David tried to force a laugh. Even that hurt.
    A few minutes later the door creaked open and Willy stepped in. He smelled the vomit right away. “Aghh! What the? Uuugh … uuuyee oiy,” he pinched at his nose as he fled the room.
    It wasn’t long before the shouting started as the men argued over the situation. The need for the remote location was becoming more apparent all the time.
    Alex stared at the door in disbelief. He had never heard two grown men behave in such a manner. After several shouts and multiple threats Willy returned with his nostrils flaring. Beez was obviously the one in charge. Either that or he was the bigger bully.
    “I ain’t cleanin’ it up, I’ll tell you at right now,” Willy complained. “No sir. I ain’t doin’ it. No matter how much money.”
    He tipped David’s chair up right, and David shuddered from the pain, especially when the legs of the chair clunked down, distributing a shock to every nerve in his body. Willy continued to rant as he untied David’s ropes, none too gentle. One would assume that being released after such a long ordeal would be a welcome experience. It wasn’t. The pain was unbelievable. The bristly cords yanked and pulled, sending twine micro slivers into David’s open wounds with each merciless jerk.  
    “You sir, you’re the one ‘at gets the job. Stupid bloke.”  
    With each tug David braced. He had to keep up the front. These men were nothing to him. Nothing! And he wanted to be sure that they knew, that he knew, that he was better than them. Even if it killed him.     
    Once untied, Willy shoved David from the chair to the floor. He fell, nearly landing on his face with his knee in the puddle of muck. As he tried to get up, the realization of what his body had been through became more evident.   
    “Hurry up, you little brat ‘for I rub your whole face in it!”
    His aching ankles couldn’t manage his weight as he tried to get up, sending him to the floor. For the first time he saw his hands and wrists. The injuries were infuriating, which gratefully did the trick. New strength poured into every facet of his body, and he rose to his feet, settling into a stance of perfect posture. The skin around his wrists was raw, thick, and swollen with deep purple bruises. Blood stained his shirt cuffs. His suit coat was rumpled with splats of vomit here and there, and blood had run thick into the creases of his hands where it dried in crusts. All of this added steam to his anger, and he stood with more pride and determination than he had in his entire life. Even though David was a child with his hair askew, Willy stepped back, completely intimidated. Unfortunately, the effect didn’t last long. In an instant, Willy regained his senses and pulled at David’s ear.
    “Come on, you.”  
    Willy kept a hold of David’s ear and dragged him down the dilapidated hallway to a double door where he shoved it open and tossed David down the exterior steps. David lost his footing and fell most of the way to the ground. Despite the tumble, he was elated to be free. The fresh air instantly dispersed the haunting nausea.
    “There. You see that bucket?” Willy ordered. “You get that buck

Publishing Perestroika: Indie Authors Blow Away Traditional Gatekeepers and Storm the Castle of Newspaper Bestseller Lists

By Steve Windwalker

Call it the “Paper Curtain,” if you like.

But like the Berlin Wall, it’s coming down.

As a result of the Publishing Perestroika that has been unleashed by readers and writers connecting primarily around Kindle content in the short span of just 39 months, the walls that have kept self-published and ebook authors from being included in prestigious newspaper bestseller lists will come crashing down this week.

Tomorrow, USA TODAY will roll out its weekly list of the top 150 bestselling books in the U.S., just as it does every Thursday.

Amanda Hocking
But for the very first time, USA Today announced today, its list for the week ending February 6 will include bestselling self-published direct-to-Kindle authors like Amanda Hocking. Hocking’s books currently rank #3, #11, #12, #27, #37, #41, and #46 on the Kindle Store top 50 bestsellers, and “the three titles in her Trylle Trilogy (Switched, Torn and Ascend, the latest) will make their debuts in the top 50 of USA TODAY’s Best-Selling Books list,” wrote USA Today’s Carol Memmott in an article entitled “Authors catch fire with self-published ebooks.”

Whether it happens this week or within a few more weeks, it’s also a good bet that Hocking will soon be accompanied by bestselling Kindle indie authors like John Locke, Victorine Lieske, and others.

And other, equally dramatic developments will follow:
  • One way or another, the fact that USA Today has opened its “bestseller list” gates to the great unwashed population of ebook and self-published authors will force the New York Times to do the same, lest its bestseller list be rendered irrelevant.
  • Once the Times and other rags allow self-published books on their bestseller lists, they will have to start publishing reviews of self-published books.
  • The prediction made here just a few weeks ago, that an indie author would be inducted by early 2012 into the “Kindle Million Club” alongside James Patterson, Stieg Larsson, and Nora Roberts, will prove to have been ridiculously conservative. Regardless of when Amazon makes the announcement, Hocking will pass the million-copy mark in Kindle books sold by the first day of Spring this year, and she will be joined by another dozen indie authors before the arrival of Spring in 2012.
All of these changes probably became inevitable, even though we didn’t know it then, when Amazon launched the Kindle on November 19, 2007.
 
But the barons of the book industry and the big New York publishers should make no mistake about the fact that these events have been hastened dramatically by their own tragically misguided launch of the agency model price-fixing plan early in 2010. Their tone-deaf move to try to protect their print publishing business model by insisting upon increases of 30 to 50 percent in ebook prices opened the doors wide to indie authors to lure readers with lower prices for what, in many cases, are better books.

During the last week before the agency model launch, in March 2010, there was not a single fiction title by an indie author along the top 50 bestselling titles in the Kindle Store.

This week, indie fiction authors have 18 of the top 50 spots. Those are 18 of the top 50 bestselling ebook spots in the land, worth well over a million copies sold during the month of February, and the agency model publishers might just as well have said “Here, come and take these, we don’t need them.”

Free Kindle Nation Shorts – February 8, 2011: An Excerpt from Take the Monkeys and Run, a novel by Karen Cantwell

Bestselling novelist Karen Cantwell

By Stephen Windwalker
Editor, Kindle Nation Daily
©Kindle Nation Daily 2011
 

Given the demographics of Kindle Nation, which strongly favor that very distinguished group that is sometimes identified by the phrase “women of a certain age,” it should be no surprise that indie author Karen Cantwell’s first novel is knocking on the door of the Top 100 bestsellers in the Kindle Store.

We’ll let author-reviewer Maria E. Schneider explain:

“It was nice to read about a 45 year-old-heroine who had a lot of life and love left in her, with perhaps too great a sense of adventure and not enough sense to stay out of trouble.”
–Maria E. Schneider, author of Executive Lunch
But it is also clear that there’s nothing formulaic or demographically driven about this wild fictional ride. It’s just a great read that happens to resonate with gazillions of Kindle owners!
It was a semi-finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel  Award, it has already dazzled dozens of reviewers, it is flirting with Top 100 status on the Kindle Store bestseller list, but most important: it’s not too late for you to discover Take the Monkeys and Run, the first novel in Karen Cantwell’s “Barbara Marr” series of murder mysteries! At 99 cents, it will definitely fit into your Kindle budget, but just in case you are still on the fence, Karen is providing just enough of a free excerpt right here to help you make up your mind!
 

(A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery)

by Karen Cantwell
Kindle Edition
  
List Price: $0.99
 
“In this funny, touching, improbable escapade in the burbs, heroine and movie buff Barbara Marr faces life’s mishaps and mysteries with pluck and wit.”LB Gschwandtner
 
Here’s the set-up:  
Film lover Barbara Marr is a typical suburban mom living the typical suburban life in her sleepy little town of Rustic Woods, Virginia. Typical, that is until she sets out to find the missing link between a bizarre monkey sighting in her yard and the bone chilling middle-of-the-night fright fest at the strangely vacant house next door. When Barb talks her two friends into some seemingly innocent Charlie’s Angels-like sleuthing, they stumble upon way more than they bargained for and uncover a piece of neighborhood history that certain people would kill to keep on the cutting room floor.

Enter sexy PI Colt Baron, Barb’s ex-boyfriend who would love to be cast as new leading man, filling the role just vacated by her recently estranged husband, Howard. When Colt flies in from out of town to help Barb, events careen out of control and suddenly this mini-van driving mother of three becomes a major player in a treacherous and potentially deadly FBI undercover operation. It’s up to her now. With little time to spare, she and she alone, must summon the inner strength necessary to become a true action heroine and save the lives of those she loves. The question is can she get them out alive before the credits roll?

 
What the Reviewers Say
“A semi-finalist in the 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest, Take the Monkeys and Run obviously pleased a few readers. While this is no literary masterpiece, it is essentially well-written with engaging, often larger that life characters, and most importantly is laugh out loud funny.” 
–Jenny Mounfield, The Compulsive Reader

 
  

 

UK CUSTOMERS: Click on the title below to download

  
Click here to download Take the Monkeys and Run  (or a free sample) to your Kindle, iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, BlackBerry, Android-compatible, PC or Mac and start reading within 60 seconds!
Free Kindle Nation Shorts – February 8, 2011    
An Excerpt from 
 
Take the Monkeys and Run
 

a novel  by Karen Cantwell     

 

Copyright © 2010, 2011 by Karen Cantwell and published here with her permission

 

The girls had run outside faster than I could say “rabies,” so I dashed out after them, phone in my hand dialing the Fairfax County Police.
“Hello,” I said more calmly than one might think, “I have monkeys in my trees.  Can you send someone to catch them?”
A moment of silence made me wonder if I’d been disconnected.
“Is this a prank?” a woman on the other end finally asked.
“No, this isn’t a prank.  My name is Barbara Marr and I live at 902 White Willow Circle in Rustic Woods.  There are monkeys in my trees.”
“Are you sure they aren’t squirrels?  You have some very big squirrels in Rustic Woods.”
I detected that she was patronizing me.  I wasn’t sure.  I felt patronized.
“Well, unless they evolved overnight and acquired the ability to swing from limb to limb with arms longer than their tails, I’m thinking these aren’t squirrels.  There are definitely, unequivocally three monkeys . . . make that four monkeys in my trees.  And the fourth one just pooped on my mums.”  
“Ma’am, I hear a lot of screaming in the background, is anyone hurt?” she asked.
I looked around my yard.  The gaggle of my three girls had grown as Roz and her three kids joined in my yard, followed by another neighbor, Maxine, and her yapping poodle, Puddles.  Maxine, who lived just one street over, was an aging hippie-widow with past-her-bottom straight, gray hair and an affinity for huarache sandals and hemp.  I liked Maxine a lot, but that poodle of hers was the yappiest damn animal I ever met.
“No, no one is hurt – just excited.  We don’t get monkeys around here too often you know,” I said.  “Listen, is there something you can do here?”
“Can you describe the monkeys?”
“They’re brown.  Long tails.  Long arms.”
“Do you know what kind of monkeys they are?
“Sorry, I don’t have my Wonderful World of Monkeys Reference Volume handy right now.  They’re monkeys.  Bigger than a bread box.”
“There’s no need to be rude, Ma’am, I’m trying to be helpful here.  This usually isn’t our area, but I’ll send a squad car anyway and contact animal control.”
Roz and Maxine were standing next to me in my side yard holding themselves tight to keep warm.  I gave a quick scan around the rest of my yard, just to make sure a stray monkey or two hadn’t come down from the branches to check out life on land.  Fake foam and resin tombstones and a hideously tacky inflatable witch decorated our lawn in anticipation of Halloween, just five days away, while handmade ghosts hung from my dwarf Japanese Maple.  The inflatable witch was erected against my wishes by an insistent Amber and her relenting father, who decided to hit the high road shortly thereafter. Yup, plenty of Halloween on the ground, but luckily no monkeys.
While it had just turned colder in the last couple of days, Northern Virginia had been experiencing a doozy of an Indian Summer, giving every blade of grass in my lawn plenty of reason to grow knee high, despite the light layer of leaves that had already fallen to the ground.  Sadly, my yard had the appearance of a long forgotten graveyard.  Too much longer, and some pesky old man wearing three inch thick glasses and carrying a clip board would announce himself at my doorstep as a board member of the Rustic Woods Homeowners Association, and slap me with a hefty fine.  
“Who were you talking to?” Roz asked.
“The police,” I said.
“How about animal control?”  she asked.
“The dispatcher said she’d contact them.  Do you think we should make the kids get in the house?”  I asked.  “Who knows if they have rabies.”
“Let the kids enjoy it.  Those monkeys don’t look like they’re coming down any time soon.  Hey, speaking of monkeys, the PTA meeting is Thursday and Peter has to work.  Can Callie baby-sit?”
Roz was the PTA president at Tulip Tree Elementary School.  She was wonder woman.  Mother of two boys and a girl, each just a year apart in age, PTA President, den leader for Cub Scouts and volunteer at the local retirement home.    
A person could always recognize Roz, even from a distance.  Only about five foot three and thin as a rail, with thick blonde hair cut Dorothy Hamill style, her standard uniform was a calf-length, floral rayon dress with comfortable tan loafers.  She must have had thirty of those dresses.  She was also a devoted friend, and the only person who knew that Howard had moved out.  She’d been my shoulder to cry on for the last few days.  
While we shivered and gawked at the primates playing, a breeze blew through dropping acorns all around us.  The wind seemed to have an effect on the monkeys too.  The four of them all stopped moving for a minute, sitting on branches in two different trees.  One crossed his arms as if he was cold too.  After a moment of silence, they started chattering and climbing again.
“The dispatcher on the phone asked me what kind of monkeys they are – what do you think?” I asked the ladies.
“They’re definitely not chimpanzees.  Too big for spider monkeys.” Roz offered.
“They have cute faces, eh?”  Maxine grew up in Canada and even though she lived in Rustic Woods for over a quarter of a century, she still liked to say ‘eh?’ every once in a while.
“Where do you think they came from?” Roz wondered.
Suddenly I remembered the previous night’s adventure.  “That’s it!”  I shouted.
“That’s what?” Maxine asked.
“Last night – remember, Roz?  I did hear a monkey.  I’m not crazy after all.”
“That’s still to be determined.” Roz stated matter-of-factly.
Roz explained to Maxine, who looked puzzled.  “A van pulled into the driveway of the vacant house over there last night . . .”
“Three o’clock in the morning,” I corrected her.
“. . . and Nancy Drew here came outside trying to see who it was.  She claims she heard a monkey.”
“Right,” I agreed.  “And after you went inside and there was this horrible howl and even though I didn’t see anyone, I heard some guy storm out of the back screaming something about toes.”
Maxine shook her head.  “You young people sure have wild imaginations.”
“I didn’t imagine it.  I heard a monkey and now look in my trees.  How is that imagination?  That’s plain freaky-weird is what that is.”
Chuckling, Maxine gave a tug on the leash.  “Well, this has been fun girls, but Puddles and I have errands to run,” Maxine said as she turned to leave.  “Let me know how this turns out, eh?  And let me know if you find the crazy man with no toes.”  As she started up the street trying to quiet Puddles, she pulled a cell phone out of her coat pocket and put it to her ear.  She was probably calling her many widow friends to tell them about the crazy neighbor with monkeys in her trees.
As Maxine disappeared, a police cruiser turned onto White Willow Circle.  It pulled just past my driveway and parked on the street.
“Are you sure you heard a man screaming?”  Roz asked.
“Trust me, there was a whole lot more than screaming going on in that house.  I’m sure of it.”  A moment later, a very handsome, nicely proportioned policeman was standing in front of me asking for the owner of the home.
“That would be her,” Roz said smiling, pointing to me and winking.
“And your name, Ma’am?” he asked.  He was all business.
“Barbara Marr.”
“You have an animal problem here?  Monkeys . . .” he gave me a sideways glance.
“Look for yourself,” I said pointing to the trees.  “Holy cow, Roz, is that another one?”
“Yes it is. That would be number five. They’re multiplying before our very eyes!  Boys!  Don’t touch the monkey poop!  Yucky!”  
Mr. Policeman looked concerned.  “Ma’am, I suggest we get the children into the house until animal control has taken possession.  We don’t know if they have rabies.”
I gave Roz my best I-told-you-so grin.
“Fine,” I said. “But first I have to ask you to stop calling me Ma’am – I turned forty-five today and I don’t need anymore reminders that years are passing me faster than light particles.  Call me Barb.”  I could see Mr. Policeman struggle not to smile, but he lost the battle and looked down at his feet while he regained a more stoic attitude.  While Roz rounded up her kids to leave, she whispered in my ear.
“He’s cute,” she said. I agreed.  He was cute.  Stop it Barb, I told myself.  You can’t think another man is cute.  Not yet.
“Girls!” I shouted across the lawn.  “Back in the house please.”  My demand drew three frowns and lots of groans.  “Hey, don’t blame me – the police officer here said so.”
I smiled at my new uniformed friend.  “Sorry to do that, but I’m tired of always beingthe bad guy.”
“I’m used to it.”  The barest hint of a grin appeared on one side of his mouth.  The promise of a dimple looked possible if he would have allowed himself a full-out smile.  He was looking better and better, this man of the law.  He had a sort of Brad Pitt thing going there with his sandy blonde hair and all.
As it turned out, the time to consider the sex appeal of another man – Brad Pitt sexy or not – would have to wait.  Howard’s Camry was pulling into the driveway.
Now, my husband Howard, more recently known as Howard-the-creep, looks a little like George Clooney – everyone says so.  Same dark hair, a little less chin, slightly softer features.  I had to admit, he was supremely handsome as husbands go, despite the fact that if a magic Jeannie were to grant me three wishes, the first would be that he suffer thirty consecutive days of passing golf-ball sized kidney stones.
I took a moment to consider the circumstances – Brad Pitt the policeman beside me, George Clooney the renegade husband walking up my driveway, and monkeys in my trees.  Hmmm.  Give me a Matt Damon look-alike from Animal Control and I might think I was at a read-through for Ocean’s Fourteen.
Howard had more than a slightly concerned look on his face as he eyeballed the police car parked in front of our house.  He walked briskly across the front lawn landing just behind me and the uniformed stud.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.  “Are the girls okay?”
“The girls are fine,” I said through clenched teeth.  “Do you care about my well-being, oh by the way?  Or maybe what I’m up to these days?  Did you know I started working on my movie review website again?  Are you interested in hearing about that?  Oh, of course you’re not.  That’s why you left.  Come for more of your things?”
Howard dropped his shoulders and threw up his arms, knowing this was a lose-lose conversation.
“Officer,” I said.  “This is my husband, Howard, but he doesn’t know about the monkeys because he moved out this week.”
“Monkeys?” Howard asked, ignoring my sarcasm.
“In your trees sir,” said Officer Brad, looking relieved that animal control had arrived just in time to rescue him from a potential domestic disturbance.
“What happened?” Howard asked looking up.  “Jesus!  Where did they come from?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and raised my brows. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see the girls for a few minutes and to see if you had calmed down enough to talk about things.”
“Things?”
“Barb, come on,” he whined.  “I’m trying here.”  
Damn!  He even whined liked George Clooney.  I had a hard time being mad at him as I looked into his sumptuous, deep brown eyes.  Those were the eyes I got lost in when I met him at college.  Now his perfect nearly-black hair had these super sexy silver streaks running through at the temples.  I could just take a big bite of him.  No time for reminiscing or getting all hot and bothered though.  Time to show him I didn’t give a hoot.
“Trying?  You’re trying?”  I shook my head.  “I don’t think so.  Just go in and see the girls.  I’ve got a house to take care of here . . . and . . . monkeys to catch.”  I stomped off to talk to animal control whose second van had just arrived.
*****
An hour later, animal control and the monkeys were gone.  Officer Brad Pitt Look-a-like too.  Sure that the monkeys were related to the strange goings-on at House of Many Bones, I gave him a full account of what I had witnessed the night before.  He nodded politely, semi-interested, but was dispatched to another emergency, so I didn’t get a warm and fuzzy that the police would be looking into it anytime soon.  He did leave me his card though, in case I saw “anything else suspicious.”  Turned out he had a real name – Eric LaMon.  Nice name, I thought.  Nice butt.
Howard was on the phone in the kitchen when I came back into the house after bidding the Fairfax County contingent farewell.  
“Yeah Mom,” he was saying, “we’ll see about Thanksgiving.  I love you too.” And he hung up.  He had a guilty look on his face.  “I called her from here so it would show on her caller ID.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“No.”  He was looking down, tapping his fingers on the counter.  He couldn’t look me in the eyes.
“Thanksgiving?” I inquired.  “What’s that all about?”
Howard was acting more uncomfortable than ever.
“I’ll tell you later.  I’ll call you – maybe we can meet somewhere and talk things out.  Calmly.  I gotta go.”
He was pushing all of my buttons.  “You ‘gotta go’?  What do you ‘gotta do’?”  I was on a roll, shoving finger quotes in the air in front of his face and everything.  “It’s Saturday for crying out loud.  You certainly don’t have the yard to take care of.  I guess that’s my job now, huh?” Sarcasm appeared to be my weapon of choice.  He was either oblivious or immune to it by now, because he just looked at me, kissed me on the forehead, and started to leave.
Noticing a piece of paper by the phone I picked it up. “Is this yours?” Reading what was on the note, I stopped. Scribbled in pencil was the name Marjorie Smith and a phone number with a local area code.  Howard snatched it out of my hand.
“Who’s Marjorie?” I asked, stunned.  The room started to spin a little.
“A woman at work,” he said shoving the paper into the breast pocket of his Boston Fog.
“Why do you need her phone number?”
“She’s selling me a couch.”
“Why do you need a couch?”
“To sit on.  I’ll call.”  He was gone.  Out the door.  I looked around the empty room, seething and perplexed.
I had absolutely no idea what Howard was doing – or more frightfully WHO he was doing.  But now I had a name.  Marjorie Smith.  Selling him a couch.  Every time I even barely let myself go there – to consider that he might be having a affair – I turned into a sobbing mess.  I didn’t want to cry anymore.  Wimpy women cry.
Taking a moment to get my mental bearings, I thought about the girls.  I wasn’t going to let them see me be weak.  They deserved better.  I was going to be a rock.  A brick wall.  A lighthouse in the storm.  I was going to be like Sigourney Weaver in Alien.  Lieutenant Ripley.  Now there was a strong woman to admire.  Buff bitch who took no shit.  If that woman could survive man-eating aliens, I could survive a little marital mishap.  I needed to go to the gym though, if I was going to look like Sigourney’s Lieutenant Ripley.
Figuring the girls were upstairs playing or on computers, I decided to check the mail.  The mailman had arrived just as Animal Control was slamming their last van door shut.  Striding out the door, I whispered a little mantra to myself.  She’s selling him a couch.  She’s selling him a couch.  She’s selling him a couch.  I was hoping that if I said it over and over again, I’d come to believe it.  In my driveway, I was surprised to see Howard standing on the front lawn of House of Many Bones, talking on his cell phone.  When he saw me, he flipped the phone shut and walked my way.
“What were you doing?” I asked, eyeing him suspicously.
“Just checking the place out.  What did you say you heard last night?”
“Did I tell you about that?”
“Didn’t you tell me about that?”
“I don’t remember . . .”
His cell rang and he looked at it, but didn’t answer.  “Look, I’ve got to get back to work.  We’ll talk about . . . well . . . look . . . nevermind.  Just . . . be careful.”  He slipped into his Camry, backed out fast and sped away, just in time for my friend Peggy to pull up in her blue Honda Odyssey.  My house was beginning to feel like Grand Central Station
“Ciao, baby!” she hailed, stepping onto the drive.  Peggy was a pasty-skinned, red-headed, stout lady of obvious Irish lineage who converted to Judaism before she married and then to Italian-ism after she married.  For their honeymoon, she and her husband, Simon, spent an entire month in Italy.  Ever since, she has talked Italian, walked Italian, cooked Italian and often forgotten that her maiden name was O’Malley, not Minnelli.
“Hey, Peggy,” I said.  I was glad to see Peggy – she had a way of making people happy.
She noticed I was watching House of Many Bones.  “Whatcha lookin’ for-a Signora?” she asked.  “More monkeys?”
Word had already spread.
“Talked to Roz, huh?” I asked. “You should have been here – it was wild.  But no, I’m not looking for more monkeys.  I’m trying to figure out why Howard was just . . .”  I shook my head and looked back at House of Many Bones.  “Something very strange is going on here I tell you.”
“I’m so sorry about Howard.”  She touched my arm and gave me that yes-Roz-told-me face.  There were many people in this world who I did not want to have knowledge of my current personal dilemma, but Peggy was not one of them.  I was actually glad Roz told her so I wouldn’t be forced to recount the gory details another time.
“Thanks,” I said. “He stopped by.  But he left again.”    
“So,” she picked her words carefully, leaning against her van, “was this mutual?”
“Nope.  He just told me one night, and he moved out the next day.  I don’t even know where he is.  He won’t tell me.”  I felt another cry coming on, but choked it back. Lieutenant Ripley would have been proud.
“Mama Mia. Did he say why?” she asked.
“Hmmm, what were his exact words  . . . oh yes, they’re etched in my memory forever: ‘I need space.'”
“Oh, that one,” she nodded.  “Joanna Spelling’s husband told her he needed space too.  Turned out the space he needed was a condo in Leesburg for boinking their nanny.  In fact,” she said, pointing a knowing finger in my direction, “I hear babysitters are the leading cause of divorce next to the secretary.  Any nannies in your past?”  
“Not a one.  And he doesn’t have a secretary.”  I didn’t mention Marjorie Smith.  Saying it out loud would be like admitting the possibility that Howard was with another w

Timeless Principles Translate Into Leadership Lessons for Our Time in Our Kindle Nation eBook of the Day: Peter H. Jones’ We Tried to Warn You: Innovations in leadership for the learning organization – and here’s a free sample!

The theory of today’s Kindle Nation eBook of the Day is simple: 
Every day, micro-failures of communication and their cover-ups accumulate. 
This causes a network of decisions that lead to systemic-level failures of organizations.





by Peter H. Jones
Kindle Price: $2.99
Text-to-Speech:  Enabled – Lending:  Enabled
  • How to avoid (and recover from) failure.
  • Essential reading for anyone who wants to be involved in an innovative organization.
  • Build successful products based on authentic customer experience.
Few business books on innovation really help the reader understand just how, exactly, innovations happen in the real world of organizations.  What are the stories of failure, and success, that we might learn from? This case study shows the critical need to adapt product and business strategy to lessons learned from the customer’s authentic experience. 

The warning in this book cuts both ways – in the case study, both customers and front-lline teams tried to warn that a new system might fail. When it actually did fail, a small user experience team was charged to help recover from the loss. Fortunately, they succeeded.  This book tells how they did it.  

The major lesson in the book is not that of learning from failure, but of the value and necessity of adopting informal customer-driven knowledge processes. These processes can guide feedback to decision making and they can feed observations forward to inspire new innovations. In this case, a large systems company moved from a market-leading tech has-been to a customer-responsive leader with a higher market standing.

The theory of We Tried to Warn You is simple: every day, micro-failures of communication and their cover-ups accumulate. This causes a network of decisions that lead to systemic-level failures of organizations.

The “lessons learned” focus on the knowledge-based practices that enable organizations to sense and make decisions from critical feedback from customers in the field. These practices constitute the multidisciplinary field now known as “user experience” (UX).

Peter Jones, Ph.D. is managing director of Redesign, Inc. a design/research firm for human-systems innovation in Toronto and the US. Redesign leads design for complex services and information products, involving field research, prototyping, and concept development, and organizational innovation. Peter has designed leading information resources used in scientific, legal, and medical practice, and conducts ethnographic and design research to help people understand the impact of innovations that will impact these fields and evolve practices. Dr. Jones is on faculty at Toronto’s OCAD University, where he is a senior fellow of the Strategic Innovation Lab and teaches in the Strategic Foresight and Innovation graduate program. He is a board member of the Institute for 21st Century Agoras, which promotes the practice and science of dialogic design for democratic, collaborative action on socially complex problems.  Peter’s research interests also include institutional and healthcare innovation, values-informed design, social publishing and new forms of editorial review, and democratic and dialogic design process. 

Peter’s books, papers and online work are at designdialogues.com

Here’s a free sample, right in your browser: 

IF YOU ARE READING THIS POST ON YOUR KINDLE, JUST ENTER 
INTO YOUR COMPUTER OR TABLET  BROWSER TO READ THE FREE SAMPLE!

Kindle Nation Daily Free Book Alert, Wednesday, February 9: Mara Purnhagen’s Raising the Dead is Our Latest Freebie, plus … J.M. Zambrano’s Pool of Lies will surprise and delight fans of psychological suspense (Today’s Sponsor)

No need to worry about the advent of mid-February cabin fever with our fresh daily updates of over 200 Free Book Alert listings….

But first, a word from … Today’s Sponsor
 
 
If the victim is an addict, can justice turn a blind eye? This novel of psychological suspense has the answer…
 

Reviewer Frank P. Galiani admires the “insight it gives into forensic accounting and the strength of its female protagonist.”


Pool of Lies 
by J. M. Zambrano
4.5 out of 5 stars   4 Reviews
Text-to-Speech: Enabled 
Don’t have a Kindle? Get yours here.

Keeps you guessing and reading



Here’s the set-up:

When heiress Deidre Lassiter dies of a drug overdose in her hot tub, ripples from the pool of lies that shaped her life spread to the lives of those she leaves behind.


What the Reviewers Say
“A story with a drug-addicted heiress, family feuds, cover-ups, and characters whose loyalties and motives are suspect. I enjoyed the authentic tension and disfunction in the family as the protagonist tries to discover who killed the dead heiress–and why the police seem uninterested in investigating her death.”
–GLJ

J. M. Zambrano’s second novel “Pool of Lies” will surprise and delight her fans as well as her new readers. J. M. Zambrano has crafted yet another intriguing tale, one that definitively captures the reader’s interest with thoroughly constructed characters and rather complicated plot. The two novels are different in structure and execution; the only similarity between “Pool of Lies” and “The Trophy Hunter” lies in the engaging, intelligent writing, pulling the readers in with eloquent prose and superb storytelling and keeping them hooked from beginning to end. An end that is unexpected but satisfying as the only logical resolution of the story. “
–Stefani Christova 


About the Author


I’m proud to be an indie author with an attitude. Born in Los Angeles, CA, I’ve worn many hats: author, screenwriter, single parent, deputy sheriff, forensic accountant, CPA, Arabian horse breeder, and caregiver to my mom in her final years. And now in Colorado, I’m once again giving authorship my best shot.


Click here to download Pool of Lies (or a free sample) to your Kindle, iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, BlackBerry, Android-compatible, PC or Mac and start reading within 60 seconds!

UK CUSTOMERS: Click on the title below to download

 

Rae Esposito, widowed forensic accountant, sets out to help Deidre’s husband settle his wife’s estate and discovers that Deidre was murdered. Bent on getting justice for Deidre, Rae enlists the help of her dead husband’s partner, Detective Veronica Sanchez, but a dirty cop and a drug dealing snitch muddy the waters.

On the periphery, a man and a woman conduct a private quest for justice. Deidre was their lovechild. And in spite of the intervening years, their secret love still lives.

As Rae unravels the lies that bind those connected with Deidre’s case, she faces truths that set asunder everything she thought she knew about her marriage and her husband’s death. When the final deception surfaces, it could cost Rae her life.

Each day’s list is sponsored by one paid title. We encourage you to support our sponsors and thank you for considering them.
 
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Free Contemporary Titles in the Kindle Store 
HOW TO USE OUR NEW FREE BOOK TOOL:

Just use the slider at right of your screen below to scroll through a complete, updated list of free contemporary Kindle titles, and click on an icon like this one (at right) to read a free sample right here in your browser! Titles are sorted in reverse chronological order so you can easily see new freebies.

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Listen
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